


The Resolutions Project

by AI07



Series: Company of Outlaws, Family of In-laws [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alliances, And Blackmail, And Poor Dwarves, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Everyone should get a say, Gandalf Is Amused And Sneaky, Humor, Iglishmêk, It's Not Like They've Got Anything Better To Do, Khuzdul, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Than A Serious Quest, Poor Bilbo, Romance, Slow Build For Days, Temptations & Distractions, Thorin can't express himself to save his life, Well Eventual Romance, What Have They Gotten Themselves Into?, Will They All Survive?, resolutions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-01-26 12:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 44,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1688735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AI07/pseuds/AI07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To make the journey bearable for Bilbo (and for each other), Thorin and Company assign each other resolutions at Gandalf's insistence:</p><p>Dwalin – must show his soft side.<br/>Balin – must be less pessimistic.<br/>Fíli and Kíli – must not get anyone, including themselves, into trouble.<br/>Ori – must try to break out of his shell and be more assertive.<br/>Nori – must not steal anyone's possessions.<br/>Dori – must fuss less over Ori.<br/>Óin – must not swear.<br/>Glóin – must try to control his temper.<br/>Bofur – must not drink.<br/>Bifur – must court his One if he wants Bofur to stick to his resolution.<br/>Bombur – must not sneak food when everyone's back is turned.<br/>Thorin – must spend more time with Bilbo.</p><p>How hard can it be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How Hard Can It Be?

"Tell me again, Gandalf, why do we have to do this?"

"It's simple, really, Thorin – to preserve the sanity of your companions, especially that of Master Bilbo Baggins, yourself – and of course, my own."

"And why does your beloved Hobbit not have to partake in this?" asked Thorin Oakenshield, narrowing his eyes at the Wizard as he pointed in the aforementioned Hobbit's direction.

Bilbo was lying in his bed-roll further away from his travelling companions who sat around the camp-fire; he was dead to the world, although his breathing was still a bit laboured. It took a while for him to fall asleep, given the extent of bee-stings that he had received in the last two hours. Luckily, Óin managed to whip up a sleeping draught out of the herbs he had left after what happened that day.

Gandalf raised an 'Are you kidding me?' eyebrow. "I think in the long run, Bilbo poses less harm to you lot than you lot pose to him. He's not used to travelling, least of all with a rowdy group of Dwarves such as yourselves. There's only so much he can tolerate ever since he generously hosted you at his home, and it will take all of his strength to continue tolerating the presence of you all on this quest despite your misgivings. He's trying his best to accept your customs and attitudes, although you're not exactly making him feel welcome."

"When you say "you", I'm right in assuming that you're referring to _me_ ," remarked Thorin dryly.

The Wizard ignored him, carrying on. "And this group is not without its tensions as well. My goodness, it makes me wonder how it is that we got this far without having a Dwarf dead yet!"

He gazed at the other Dwarves, who either looked sheepish and turned away (mostly Balin and Ori) or grumbled under their breaths (mostly Dwalin, Óin and Glóin).

"But it's because of what happened today," he continued, looking back at Thorin, "that has prompted me to gather everyone tonight and urge you all to take action before things get even _more_ out of hand. I think it's the least you can do to make Bilbo feel comfortable from now on if you undertake this little idea of mine. Hence, that is why he is excluded from tonight's, ah, proceedings, if you will. That, and he needs his rest after all he's been through today, the poor thing."

"A daft idea, this is," grumbled Glóin, scratching an irritated patch of skin on his neck as he looked over his brother to glare at Nori. "I blame _you_ for this."

"'Ere, I'm not the who knocked that beehive off the bloomin' tree!" the thief protested, cradling a heavily stung arm to his chest. "Them two tits sittin' there and their bad aim got us stung!"

He pointed at Fíli and Kíli, who both yelled "Hey!" and tried to stand up in protest, but their stung legs complained at the effort, so much so that the brothers fell back down into their seats with a pained groan.

"If you hadn't pinched Glóin's purse –" started Fíli.

"– and _my_ hair-beads!" cut in Kíli.

"– and _my_ hair-brush," continued his older brother, glaring at the star-shaped-haired Dwarf, "and then shimmied up that tree in the first place and ducked out the way of that rock we threw, we wouldn't have knocked that beehive at all! "

"I wouldn't 'ave shimmied up that tree if you an' Glóin 'adn't started t'chase me!"

"Because you STOLE my purse, you smarmy git! I could BUTCHER you for the unbelievable behaviour you displayed!"

"Unbelievable behaviour that the _whole_ lot of you displayed!" cried Dori, looking positively livid. "If this hadn't happened at all, Ori wouldn't have gotten stung. I mean, did you _see_ Ori's allergic reaction? He could have died!"

Ori's face flushed red as his stung skin as the attention briefly fell on him, and he murmured something along the lines of "Please, Dori, it's nothin' to worry about" under his breath before looking away.

"I agree," boomed Óin, looking highly annoyed at the princes. "Do you know how many bleedin', bloody herbs I had to use to treat your bee-stings, as well as everyone else's? _Mahalul zharmur khurûh! _Your antics damn well nearly used up my whole supply!"

Bifur clucked his tongue sympathetically, although he blushed at the healer's very crude words.

"Speakin' of supplies," interjected Balin, casting a weary eye at Bombur and Bofur, "I'm afraid the way things are goin', we might have to start rationin' the food and drink. It doesn't help at all if we keep helpin' ourselves when we please."

"I'm sorry," said Bombur, his cheeks burning red. "I can't help meself, 'specially when it comes to food. I just needed a little more today, is all."

"That doesn't mean you can take food when we're not lookin'," barked Dwalin in a rough tone, making the big Dwarf and little Ori flinch ("Good grief, you nearly made the poor lad jump out of his skin!" hissed Dori under his breath, clasping his youngest brother's shoulder). "And let's not even start about your brother's drinkin'!" he added before Bofur could jump in.

"Oy, a Dwarf's entitled to a little drink!" exclaimed Bofur, annoyed.

" _Yes, but not **three** "little" drinks everyday,_ " signed Bifur from beside his hat-wearing cousin, " _and one more at night._ "

Bofur glared at his cousin. "Whose side are ye on?"

"Evidently, not on yours," Dwalin declared.

"Listen here, ye –"

" _Enough!_ " thundered Gandalf, causing everyone to nearly jump out of their skin. They all turned to look at the Wizard, who looked extremely annoyed.

"This is _exactly_ what I'm talking about," he rumbled. "Is it any wonder why Master  Baggins is struggling to get through this journey? All of you and your respective difficulties with each other are bound to make even an Orc lose his mind! This has got to stop _now_ _._ "

He paused, regarding each Dwarf with a sharp eye. Then, in a gentle voice, he continued: "That is why we are doing this. By assigning each other resolutions, I hope that the journey will become bearable for us all, including the Hobbit. I believe it will be the only way that we can survive each other and succeed on this quest."

There was a short silence. Then, Thorin sighed, rubbing his temples.

"Very well," he conceded. "We'll do it, although I'm not too worried about Master Baggins. Come on, let's get on with it."

Gandalf smiled at the dark-haired Dwarf. "I knew you would see sense, dear Thorin."

"Well, we're buggered," muttered Óin.

Gandalf took off his pointed hat. From his pocket, he took out a bundle of folded scraps of paper, which he dropped into his hat. "Now, the way this works is that I have written all your names on these scraps of paper, which I have put into my hat. Each of you will pull out a random name and assign that Dwarf a resolution, which he must stick to for at least a month."

"A _month!_ " they all chorused, thunderstruck.

"A month will fly by, you'll see," chirped Gandalf cheerfully, shaking his hat to mix up the names. He walked up to Dwalin, placing the hat before the bald warrior Dwarf. "If you can kindly start us off, Dwalin. Remember, whose name you get, you will assign them a resolution that they _must_ follow through."

Dwalin pursed his lips before reaching into the Wizard's hat ( _Mahal knows when last  Gandalf washed this thing_).

After a second or so of digging around, he pulled out a scrap of paper and unfolded it.

"Well, who is it?" asked Gandalf.

"Bombur," Dwalin read out.

The big Dwarf whimpered at the sound of his name. He whimpered again when he saw a dangerous smile grace the bald warrior Dwarf's lips.

"I think a month of not being allowed to sneak any extra food is in order, wouldn't you say, Bombur?" he said, grinning.

Bombur wailed, and his brother and his cousin tried their best to comfort him.

" _There, there, Bombur, it's only for a month._"

"It'll do ye the whole world o' good. Or think of it this way – at the end o' the month, ye can have much food as ye'd like to eat!"

Bombur sniffed. "I s'pose – but oh, I'll waste away in a month!"

"You'll get used to it," said Dwalin dismissively. "But I'll be watchin' you, just in case. Alright, who's next?"

"Balin," said Gandalf, offering up his hat to the white-haired Dwarf in question.

Balin reached in, pulled out a scrap and read the name out loud: "Fíli."

Fíli groaned. "What will it be, Balin?"

"I suppose all I can ask of you is to keep yourself and everyone here out of trouble, and not go lookin' for it, either," he replied, looking sternly at the golden-haired prince.

Nori snorted. "That's like askin' Gandalf to change the weather. Never gonna bleedin' happen. OW!" (Fíli had thrown a pebble at the thief's arm.)

Gandalf tutted, moving on from the advisor. "We can only hope he sticks to it, then. Ori?"

The scribe's face glowed pink when it was his turn, and it turned a shade darker when he mumbled out the name, "Glóin."

The fiery-haired Dwarf's features softened. "Don't be shy, Ori. Whatever you think of, I can take it."

Ori pursed his lips, looking down at the ground as he spoke. "Well, you _do_ have a fiery temper … I think it would be a good thing if you … try and control your temper … only for a month, that is."

Nori shook his head. "To dream the impossible dream, Ori. OUCH! OW!" (Glóin had thrown a particularly big pebble at the thief's arm, and Dori had swatted his brother's head, hissing, "Don't make fun of your brother!")

"Let it be noted that these resolutions will be effective as of tomorrow," declared Gandalf with a sigh as he moved onto Dori. The eldest Ri reached into the hat with a grimace and read out the name on his paper: "Óin."

"What? Who's callin' me?"

Dori looked at the healer smugly. "Ooh, I know exactly what _you_ mustn't do."

"Shoe? What about a bleedin' shoe?"

"From tomorrow onwards," proclaimed Dori, loud enough for Óin to hear, "you're not allowed to swear. Not one curse, expletive or any word considered a use of profanity shall pass your lips. After all, 'tisn't pleasant for Ori to hear."

Óin glared at the eldest Ri. "I don't swear that much! You're bloody exaggeratin'!"

"Exaggeratin' or not, you're not to cuss for a month, and that is that," said Dori with an air of finality and personal triumph.

"Fine." The healer grumbled some choice words under his breath, all of which are too strong to write down.

"Next: Nori," said Gandalf.

The star-shaped-haired Dwarf's eyes practically shone when he saw whose name he got.

"Don't keep us waitin', lad, who is it?" barked Dori.

Nori looked at his brother with a fox-like grin. " _You._ "

"That cannot be right!" exclaimed the silver-haired Dwarf, grabbing his brother's paper – indeed, his name was written on it. "You can't assign resolutions to your brothers, surely?"

"I don't see why not," answered Gandalf with a casual shrug, to Dori's horror. "So Nori, what do you have in mind?"

"Hmmm," hummed Nori, smiling in a teasing manner, to his brother's annoyance and worry. "Well, after some finkin', righ', I fink the best resolution I can possibly give t'you, Dori, is that you must fuss less – preferably not at _all –_ over young Ori."

" _WHAT?!_ " Dori exploded. "Are you out of your bleedin' mind?!" ("Language!" cooed Óin gleefully.)

"Sorry, bruvver, but my word is law," said Nori, not looking at all sorry. He winked at Ori, who looked absolutely gob-smacked. "Ori don't need you to hang over 'im like a bat. One month won't be a bother now, will it?"

Dori stared daggers, arrows and spears at his younger brother. "You'll be lucky enough to be alive at the end of this month," he growled dangerously. "Just you wait …"

"Come, come, I'm sure Ori will last long enough, if not longer, without your fussing," said Gandalf, passing his hat to Óin. The healer unfolded his chosen paper with his gloved fingers and boomed, "Kíli."

"Damn it," mumbled Kíli. "Why me?"

The healer threw a dirty look in the dark-haired prince's direction. "What I originally wanted to assign you, I can't say, because it wouldn't be pleasant for Ori to hear," (the scribe blushed hard) "so now your resolution will be similar to Fíli's: don't even think of gettin' any one of us, including yourself, into trouble, and mind you don't go lookin' for it, either, otherwise I won't hesitate to knock your head with my staff. You and your brother's antics will be the death of me."

"For Mahal's sake, why does everyone make us out to be terror-seeking hooligans?" Fíli grumbled to his brother, who looked miffed.

"Probably because you are," Dwalin retorted, earning himself a glare from the golden-haired prince. Glóin guffawed at his cousin's humour, and when it came to his turn to pick a name out of the hat, he guffawed even louder when he saw whose name he got.

"Bless my beard," he murmured, his brown eyes glittering madly. "Mahal is on my side tonight."

He looked up at a horror-stricken Nori, waving his scrap of paper printed with the thief's name at him.

"Stone me," the star-shaped-haired Dwarf muttered, feeling uneasy.

"Don't look so frightened, dear Nori," purred Glóin, grinning. "A month of not bein' allowed to steal anyone's possessions should do you some good, I'd like to think."

"WHAT?!" Nori cried, jumping up. "Y'can't do that!"

"Of _course_ I can," the fiery-haired Dwarf crooned in a silky tone. "It's my decision, one which you'll have to abide by. Not one coin, bead or weapon shall leave my sight. Chin up, Nori, it's only for a month. Of course, I'm still  goin' to keep an eye on you, so don't you go and do anythin' stupid, alright?"

Nori sat back down with a thump, looking altogether furious and ready to murder Glóin. Dori struggled to contain his giggles, whilst Ori wanted to say a comforting word to his older brother, but found he could not – Nori simply looked too scary to talk to.

"Next: Fíli," said Gandalf.

The golden-haired prince took one look at his paper and triumphantly yelled "Yes!" before reading out his victim's name: "Dwalin."

The bald warrior Dwarf narrowed his eyes at the sight of the vengeful look on the young Dwarf's face.

"Do your worst," he rumbled.

Fíli smirked. "I  _will_. I hereby declare that you, Mister  Dwalin, must not be rough or tough or nasty or brutish on any one, save for an enemy, for the remainder of this month. After this night, you must show us your adorable, warm, generous soft side, especially whenever us "hooligans" are around."

Dwalin's eyes narrowed even more, and a scowl crossed his lips. "If you think I'm tough on you now, wait 'til this month is over, then you'll see how much of a tough 'un I can be."

"Admittedly, I can't wait to see the new and improved Dwalin tomorrow," remarked Gandalf, happily ignoring the tattooed Dwarf's death-stare. "Now, then, Kíli, your turn."

The dark-haired prince also looked quite gleeful when he read out: "Ori" (although he dragged it out to make it sound like "Ooorrrriiii!").

The scribe looked hesitantly at Kíli, who puffed up his chest in importance as he announced, "Henceforth, Ori must cease to hide behind his journal. He must overcome his shyness and learn to be more assertive – speak up more and all that kind of stuff. In short, show us what a tough guy you can be!"

"Oh Mahal, no," groaned Dori, face-palming. Ori looked bewildered at the resolution he was given, looking ready to collapse, and Nori actually looked quite pleased: with Dori not being allowed to fuss over him, it would be interesting to see how Ori would fare, especially now that he had to break out of his shell.

Dwalin raised an eyebrow. "So I have to act like Ori, and he has to act like me."

The princes nodded. "Seems that way," they said.

"Definitely will be interesting," murmured Gandalf, smiling at Ori's flushing face. "Four more to go, dear fellows. Bifur, _m edrûnat._"

When the axe-embedded Dwarf signed out " _Bofur_ ", his hat-wearing cousin groaned.

"Please let it be somethin' easy to follow, Bif," he pleaded.

But Bifur was merciless. Signing without pause for thought, he declared, " _You are not allowed to drink_ _._ "

"What! Not allowed to drink AT ALL?!" cried Bofur, eyes as wide as plates.

" _Well, you can – but **only** water,_" signed Bifur, a hint of a smile on his lips. Everyone chortled at this.

Needless to say, Bofur looked furious. Bifur touched his shoulder, signing, " _I'm doing you a favour, Bofur. I can't afford to let you hurt yourself when you're in an inebriated state. Remember what happened the last time? I thought Óin would have to amputate your finger, it was cut badly._"

Bofur did not answer. Instead, he threw his hand into Gandalf's hat, feeling around the scraps left. Pulling one out and reading the name to himself, a malicious, vengeful grin graced his lips, and the corners of his eyes crinkled in contented delight. Bifur did not like that look, not one little bit ... especially when his cousin directed that look at _him_.

"Well, Bifur, if ye want me to stick to  _my_ resolution,"  Bofur intoned, showing his paper with Bifur's name scrawled on it, "then  _ye_ got to do this: by the end of this month, ye have to have revealed  yeself to your One and courted him."

Everyone sat in shocked silence at the resolution/revelation, staring at each other.

 _Bifur?_ Had a _One_? In _this_ Company?! And  Bofur had the nerve to reveal such information and then force his cousin to act on his feelings in retaliation for his resolution? What cheek!

But  _who_ was his One?

The axe-embedded Dwarf's face had turned a rather deep shade of red at that moment. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out, he was so shocked. When he finally did speak, he said, in Khuzdûl, " _That's blackmail._ "

The hat-wearing Dwarf smirked. "Call it what ye will, dear Bifur, but personally," he paused, then, echoing his cousin's words, said, "I think I'm doin' ye a favour. Got to show yer feelings sometime, am I right? So why not now?"

He pinched his cousin's cheek playfully. "So, if ye get goin', I won't touch a single drop of ale. I'll have further instructions on this tomorrow."

Poor Bifur looked away, wondering why he let himself come along on this quest in the first place.

Gandalf looked sympathetically towards the axe-embedded Dwarf before he proffered up his hat to Bombur. "Bombur, if you will be so kind."

Bombur, still heart-sore about his resolution, picked out a paper and glumly read out, "Balin."

"Go on, lad," encouraged the white-haired Dwarf.

"Well, I suppose ye can be less pessimistic, like ye were earlier," the big Dwarf mumbled. "So very pessimistic, ye are. I've never seen so many negatives in my life 'cept in my equations during my engineerin' trainin'."

Balin looked surprised. "Am I really _that_ negative?"

"Believe you me, Balin, if I had picked out your name, I probably would have suggested the same thing," said Thorin.

Then suddenly, the light dawned on the dark-haired Dwarf.

Slowly, he turned to look up at Gandalf, a mixture of confusion, suspicion and dread showing on his face.

"Gandalf," he said, his ice-blue orbs narrowing, "if everyone else has already assigned each other their resolutions, who am I to assign and who is assigning me?"

The Wizard gave Thorin a wide smile. "Oh, I already thought of that. You see, there are thirteen of you, and it wouldn't do to have someone assign two resolutions to another. So, I took the liberty of not including your name in the hat."

"My name was not in the hat?" repeated Thorin, unable to believe his ears. "Then whom will I be choosing? And who is assigning me a resolution?"

"There are no more _Dwarves_ to choose, dear fellow," said the Wizard cheerfully. "And as for who is assigning you a resolution, I've left that task up to _me_."

The dark-haired Dwarf felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "And what, pray-tell, do you want me to do for an entire month?"

Gandalf placed his hat back on his head as he casually said:

"Nothing too strenuous, Thorin. You are to spend some time with our own Bilbo Baggins. How hard can that be?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mahalul zharmur khurûh! - Mahal's hairy balls!  
> Medrûnat - Go ahead.
> 
> I'm amazed that I'm always writing something Hobbit-related when I have assignments and things to do - and it's always every Sunday that I'm at it. Weird ...  
> So yes, the Dwarves must stick to these resolutions for an entire month. In the immortal words of Jeremy Clarkson, "How hard can it be?" Oh, but we'll see ... ;P  
> And bless Gandalf for his sneaky heart.
> 
> Comments/kudos are welcome!
> 
> *~AI07~* :)


	2. Day 1: Morning Has Broken (And It Seems Everyone's Minds Has, Too)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Bilbo wakes up, he notices that his companions are acting rather oddly ...

_**Day 1** : As of now until the end of one month, our resolutions have come into effect. Technically speaking, I am not allowed to be writing in my journal. Graciously, Kíli has allowed me, with approval by Gandalf, to record our progress and to allow myself to indulge in some writing and sketching for a maximum of two hours per day. Needless to say, Dori argued in my favour to increase the time to at least four hours, but Kíli and Gandalf would have none of it. Dori is thoroughly miffed about it, but there is nothing he can do. We all let ourselves into this mess, so we'll just have to make do._

_**Morning period** : Master Baggins nearly died at Thorin's hands. If the shock of seeing us acting out of sorts didn't kill him (I feel so guilty for the way I behaved, in particular!), then Thorin's thumping just about **nearly** did the job. It makes me wonder how **we** will all survive …_

_\- Ori._

* * *

The moment Bilbo Baggins woke up, he knew something felt a little … _off_.

And it was not because of his bee-stings, which had left his limbs somewhat stiff.

Perhaps – just _maybe –_ it was because, when the Hobbit reached under his pillow, he was surprised to find that his coin purse was still there. Normally, Nori would have pinched it by now. It was always the thief's favourite exercise/activity/way to annoy him – to steal his purse before the Hobbit woke up. And no matter where, or how hard, he hid it, the star-shaped-haired Dwarf always somehow got hold of it. It frustrated Bilbo to the point of not even bothering to hide his purse any more. At least Nori had the decency to return it to him when he asked him to, coins and all (often Bilbo would have Glóin count out his money just to make sure).

But lo and behold, here was his purse! And by the looks of it, it had not been moved from its place under his pillow since Bilbo put it there the night before!

_How very odd, and how unlike Nori!_

Gingerly getting up onto his haunches ( _confound these stiff limbs_ ), the Hobbit peered around at his sleeping companions. Yes, there was Nori, deep in slumber and holding his stung arm to his chest.

_Unusual … very unusual, indeed. But I don't see any reason why I should dwell on this matter. Perhaps Nori is having a day off because of his bee-stings, I shouldn't wonder! Let's leave him be until he wakes up._

Rubbing away the last remaining sleep in his eyes, Bilbo got up from his bed-roll. It was his turn to prepare breakfast on this rather cloudy morning. Still, he inwardly knew that Bofur and Bombur ( _especially Bombur_ ) would get up soon to assist him – jolly decent lot, those two were.

_Oh, there's Balin! Probably took last watch._

Indeed, he did. The white-haired Dwarf sat by the fire with a dejected expression on his face, which was not unusual to see, given that the advisor was not the most cheerful of Dwarves, and his pessimism proved to be contagious whenever the Hobbit was in bad spirits ( _such as waking up to find my dratted coin purse stolen by that rascal Nori, for example_ ).

"Good morning, Balin," greeted Bilbo, walking up to the advisor.

Balin turned to look at the Hobbit. Suddenly, the dejected expression evaporated – in place of the small frown that had graced the Dwarf's lips a few seconds before, a large beaming smile appeared instead, which made Bilbo almost recoil in shock.

 _Good grief, I've never seen_ _**Balin** _ _smile in the morning before!_

But it did not end there.

"And a very good morning to you too, Master Baggins!" trilled Balin, his dazzling smile widening. "I trust that you slept well. Bee-stings are nothin' to laugh at, but a good night's sleep would have remedied that, to be sure!"

"Er, yes, I slept well, thanks for asking," started Bilbo slowly and cautiously. _My, he's very cheerful this morning. Strange, that._ "And, uh, how are you this morning, Balin?"

"Ah, I'm well, laddie! Very well indeed! 'Tis a _lovely_ morning. Lovely, ever so … _lovely_!"

"Lovely?" queried Bilbo, raising a bemused eyebrow as he looked up at the sky. "By the looks of those clouds, I do believe there will be rain later, wouldn't you say?"

Balin shook his head, smiling that ever-bright smile. "No, no, it promises to be good weather, believe you me, Master Baggins."

"Good weather? More like _rotten_ weather, I'm certain."

"I'm sure it won't be."

"It's very _likely_ that there will be rain."

"Dear Halfling, I can _assure_ you that it will not rain."

Bilbo stared at Balin. "Just to reiterate, Balin: _you're_ telling _me_ that it won't rain?"

"Of _course_ it won't rain," purred the advisor, his smile never faltering.

"Then what happens if it does?" asked the Hobbit.

A pause.

"Then there's always another tomorrow!" answered Balin cheerfully. "Ah, Bofur and Bombur are awake, I see! Do excuse me, Master Baggins. I shall be retirin' for a short while to catch up on my sleep, after which I'll be right as rain – if you'll pardon the pun! Oh, what a _marvellous_ morning!"

The white-haired Dwarf practically sprinted away the moment he finished speaking, leaving behind a very bemused Bilbo, who stared after him with wide eyes.

_Upon my word, Balin is acting quite bizarrely. He's not known for being a blithesome character. Can't blame it on drink – he seemed to be clear-headed. Come now, Bilbo, don't let his behaviour bother you. After all, there's nothing wrong with a bit of optimism, especially when you're travelling with 13 others … and **especially** if it rains or not._

"Mornin', Master Baggins," greeted Bofur with a yawn as he and his brother approached the Hobbit. "Have ye started makin' the breakfast yet?"

"Not yet, Bofur," replied Bilbo, unpacking some food supplies and cooking utensils as he spoke. "I'm just about to get started. You'll be having your morning drink before you assist me in the cooking, correct?"

The hat-wearing Dwarf, who was cleaning out the cooking pot, froze. He looked up at the Hobbit with a rather funny-looking smile.

"Ah no, not me, Master Baggins," he said. "I'm, uh, fine fer the mean-time. Perhaps a little later."

"Okay, if you're sure," said Bilbo, raising both his eyebrows in surprise. _Bofur? Refusing his morning drink? That's a first!_ _Not that I approve of that sort of thing. It's just that h_ _e's the only person who'll insist on having a drink before breakfast! So why not this morning?_

He turned to look at Bombur, who was staring hungrily at a few, fine-looking red apples. He smiled. "Go ahead, Bombur, take one or two. As always, I promise I won't tell anyone. After all, you can't help it if you have a bigger appetite than the average Dwarf. We wouldn't want you to waste away."

The bigger Dwarf tore his hungry gaze away from the fruit to look at Bilbo. His plump cheeks turned pink. "Thank ye kindly, Master Baggins, but I'm thinkin' of cuttin' down on the extra food. It wouldn't do to, er, overeat, am I right?"

Bilbo stared at Bombur. "You _are_ joking."

"No joke," replied the youngest Ur, albeit with some … _hesitation?_ "No more sneakin' food fer me, I swear on the Broadbeam's name. Just give me the usual three meals and I shall be content."

"You're _letting_ him do this?" Bilbo asked Bofur, the surprise evident in his voice.

The hat-wearing Dwarf shrugged. "What Bom wants, Bom shall get."

"What, to fulfil some secret ambition of becoming a walking skeleton?" exclaimed the Hobbit. He turned back to Bombur. "I don't think you should go through with this. Your body won't be used to not consuming the amount of food you're used to. It took a long and painful while for my body to adjust to eating only three meals – imagine what _you_ will be going through!"

The bigger Dwarf whimpered. "Please, Master Baggins, let it be. It's only fer a couple o' days or so. I'm a tough 'un, even if I don't look it. I'll be fine, so just let it be, okay?"

"Alright," finally answered Bilbo with a sigh. "I'll let this go, but if you so much as faint in my presence, I'll have Dori, Dwalin and Bifur hold you down so that I can force-feed you."

"I'll make sure he'll be fine, Master Baggins, so don't ye worry yer curly-haired head" said Bofur, squeezing Bombur's shoulder (for his brother looked to be on the verge of tears). "Now, let's not chatter 'bout dismal things. We've got good news to tell ye about our dear cousin, Bifur. I do declare, there he is now! He can tell ye himself. Oy, Bifur! Shake a leg, there's a good lad!"

Bifur approached his cousins and the Hobbit, the latter who was a little scared by the dark look that dominated the axe-embedded Dwarf's face. It seemed to grow darker when Bofur greeted him with a beaming smile, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"We were just talkin' about ye!" said Bofur happily. "And hey presto, here ye are, and right on time, too!"

Bifur glared at his cousin. " _Did you have a drink this morning?_ "

In the flicker of a moment, Bilbo saw a crack in the hat-wearing Dwarf's broad smile, but it was quickly gone as Bofur quickly responded with, "No. Come to think o' it, I probably won't have one at all! After all, I'm just _so_ excited about yer news, who can think of drinkin' at this hour? Go on, Bifur, tell Bilbo about yer news, or would ye prefer _me_ to tell him?"

To Bilbo's eyes, Bifur looked ready to take Bofur by the scruff of his neck, lay him across his knees and deliver a thorough smacking as if he were a mere Dwarfling ( _then again, Bofur does have his moments, especially after a few drinks. I can understand why Bifur would look this way at him – I would, too!_ ).

Instead, the axe-embedded Dwarf muttered something under his breath in Khuzdûl along the lines of “ _Zu amraduh_ " before facing the Hobbit and signing: _“I shall soon be courting someone in this Company_."

"Really? Congratulations, Bifur!” said Bilbo, smiling warmly. “That is good news!” _Even if you're not looking particularly happy about it._ “And who is the lucky Dwarf?”

"Oh, he hasn't told us yet,” chipped in Bofur. “He told me and Bom 'bout it, but the lovestruck bugger, bless him, was too shy to tell us who he's goin ' fer. He tried to tell us again last night – in front of everyone, mind! - but again, he clammed up! Right, Bifur?”

Bifur's death-stare did nothing to hinder his younger cousin's enthusiasm.

"So,” Bofur continued to address the baffled Hobbit, “we're goin' to help our cousin gain some confidence and court his One 'fore this journey is over, so help us all!”

"Well, the best of luck to you, then, Bifur,” said Bilbo. “I can't wait to see who your One – am I right? Your 'One'? Yes, that's right – could be. Unless … could you give us a hint?”

" _Ibzig zu_ ,” muttered Bifur before wrenching himself away from his cousin's grip and stomping off to a secluded spot under a tree, where he sat working on a toy until breakfast-time.

"What did he say?” asked Bilbo, staring after him.

"Er, he said it's a surprise,” answered Bofur quickly, smiling crookedly.

Bombur nodded in agreement, although his cheeks were now redder than those apples.

Bilbo and the brothers soon got started on making the breakfast. However, it did pain the Hobbit's heart whenever he heard Bombur's stomach growl, and even he felt a little bad for Bofur when he came upon a flask of ale that was sitting with the mixing spoon. The hat-wearing Dwarf seemed to hesitate before grabbing the spoon and giving it to Bilbo, mumbling something inexplicable under his breath.

_I don't know why they're making themselves suffer, but far be it from me to interfere. It's their business, and a Baggins of Bag-End does not butt in into anyone's business._

By the time the three companions were finished, Fíli, Kíli and the brothers Ri were the next to arise (Bifur was now back, although he refused to say, or sign, a word to his cousins). For some reason, both Dori and Nori looked thoroughly miserable, and Ori wore a nervous expression on his face ( _Nori, I can understand – like Balin said, bee-stings are nothing to laugh at, but I'm not too sure about Dori: he's normally so chipper, and why does Ori look tense?_ ). Bilbo had half a mind to ask Nori about why he had not taken his coin purse that morning, but the cross look on the thief's face warranted no response, kindly or otherwise.

Fíli and Kíli, on the other hand, were the poster-boys for happiness/mischief that was brewing beneath all their noses. They accepted their breakfast bowls with a sincere "Thank you, Master Baggins" ( _what, no 'Boggins'?_ ) and they sat down demurely to eat. Normally they would be playing around with their food at this time, their antics _highly_ annoying Dwalin or Óin or _anyone_ within range, for that matter. Astonishingly, they ate their food quietly, exchanging strange looks and regarding their companions with equally strange gazes.

But what was most astonishing was that Dori was not sitting next to Ori.

Yes, you read the above-sentence correctly.

_Dori, the biggest mother-hen in living existence that Bilbo has ever met, was **not** sitting next to Ori!_

Indeed, after the three brothers took their breakfast bowls, Nori sat in-between his brothers, his cross expression slowly changing into that of glee( _?!_ ) as his older brother snuck a worried glance in their youngest brother's direction, making sure he was eating his porridge. Ori sat between Nori and Fíli, hunched over his breakfast bowl as he tried not to acknowledge Dori's glance. With a none-too-subtle sharp nudge from the golden-haired prince, the scribe sat up straight in his seat, cleared his throat and proclaimed to all present (in what seemed to be an authoritative tone), "Not bad, this porridge. Better than yesterday's, I think."

Bilbo blinked. "Er, glad you think so, Ori."

 _Since when did Ori ever speak up at breakfast? He's such a quiet eater. And not once did he try to write in his journal – Dori would usually scold him at this point._ _In fact, I do believe his journal is_ _still in his pack_ _!_

"Quite right, Ori, this is good stuff," said Kíli from beside Fíli. "'Tis a pity that the others are still sleeping – they're missing out. Of course, maybe if _you_ woke them up, they can get themselves a bowl while the porridge is still hot."

From beside Nori, Dori looked ready to bellow the house down. His cheeks were puffed up, ready to burst, his skin had turned a nasty shade of purple, and his eyes were burning with troubled fury. Even the thief's calming shoulder-clasp, and least of all the foxy glint in his eyes, did nothing to soothe the silver-haired Dwarf's nerves.

Ori stared wide-eyed at the dark-haired prince for a few seconds. Kíli smirked right back.

Then, puffing up his chest, the scribe declared in that authoritative voice, "Alright, then. Let me have another spoonful before I wake the lads up. Need some strength to carry out that business!"

Dori looked almost ready to collapse in his seat.

_Is Ori mad? Balin and Thorin, they're alright, but waking up Dwalin, Óin and Glóin is like trying to … oh, I don't know, but it's definitely worse than anything else! Glóin has a frightful morning temper, Dwalin will break the neck of anyone who disturbs his sleep, and Óin will surely swear for Middle Earth! How can Dori let him do this?_

Before Bilbo knew it, Ori strutted ( _strutted!_ _My happy hat!_ ) away from his companions, who all watched him carefully as he made his way towards the rest of the Company. He stopped beside the sleeping form of Dwalin, and when he looked back at the others, the Hobbit saw a flicker of fear flash across his face. Then, with a gulp, the scribe nudged the bald warrior Dwarf's side with his _boot_ (Bilbo and Dori moaned in despair) as he said loudly and quite pompously, "Mister Dwalin! Time to get up now for breakfast, otherwise it'll go cold, so won't that be bad luck for you. No more time to sleep, so get up!"

Dwalin moaned as Ori nudged him again, albeit harder ( _my heart! My heart!_ ). After yet another nudge, his eyes shot open, and, sitting up slowly, he looked up at the young Dwarf with a hard gaze.

_Rest in peace, Ori …_

Suddenly, his gaze softened as he spoke. "Breakfast, did you say? Good! Can't miss that. Thank you kindly for wakin' me, Ori. What an absolute treasure you are."

Bilbo's mouth fell open to the ground. _I did not hear that. For all that is pure and mighty, I did_ _ **not**_ _just hear that …_

Ori's cheeks flushed a faint red colour, but all he said was, "My pleasure. Now do get up – you're not getting breakfast in bed, you know."

_Hoooooo, myyy sweeeeet and haaaapppy haaaat …_

Dwalin greeted everyone with a bow, and as he passed them, he ruffled Fíli and Kíli's hair affectionately as he muttered, "I hope you two are doin' fine. Wouldn't want to see you get into _trouble_."

"Us? Let's not be childish!" cooed the princes, batting their eyelashes at him.

_What … just … **what** …_

Ori repeated the same nudging procedure with Glóin. The fiery-haired Dwarf glared up at Ori, seemingly ready to express his rage at the indignity of being prodded at with a boot caked in mud, grass and other ugly bits of residue.

Instead, all that came out of his mouth was, "Alright, I'm gettin' up. No need to nudge me any further, dear Ori."

Glóin looked calm and collected, even when he collected his breakfast bowl from a stunned Bilbo. He even gave everyone a good-natured "Good mornin'", which was unlike him at this time of the day, and he smiled extra-warmly when he said, "What a _great_ mornin', don't you think, Nori?" (The thief in question glowered in response.)

_What on earth **are** these Dwarves smoking?!_

Finally, Ori nudge-nudged Óin, exclaiming, "COME ON, MISTER ÓIN! BREAKFAST ONLY COMES ONCE A DAY!"

Dori was ready to be buried in his grave.

With an incomprehensible grumble, the healer sat up and boomed, "NO NEED TO SHOUT, YOU DI – er, I mean, you _darlin'_ , dear little Dwarf that you are."

_Those **bee-stings** …! The reaction I got from those bloody bee-stings is the only reason behind this queer dream that I'm having right now!_

Óin sat next to his brother with his porridge, only speaking when he swallowed his rather too-sweet porridge and cried out, "This porridge is fu – I mean, _frightfully_ delicious!"

_Not even swearing! I can't believe this …_

Ori returned with Balin and Thorin Oakenshield in tow ("Gandalf's on his way."). The advisor greeted everyone with "A good and _lovely_ morning to you all!", whilst Thorin remained silent. Bofur dished up their bowls, as well as bowls for himself, Bombur and Bilbo. The brothers took a seat beside Glóin and Óin, and immediately Bombur dug into his porridge, he was so ravenous with hunger. Bofur glanced at Bifur, who looked away with a blush ( _did he see his One?_ ).

Bilbo sat down next to Dori, who was staring hopelessly at his empty bowl.

Then the biggest shock of that morning happened.

With everyone's eyes on him, Thorin had followed the Hobbit and, without a word, sat down next to him.

Bilbo started with a jolt when he looked to his right, only to find a pair of ice-blue eyes staring back at him.

_You are **killing me now** …_

In all of Bilbo's time with the Dwarves, never, never, never, never, never, _NEVER_ had the dark-haired, majestic Dwarf sat next to the Hobbit.

_EVER._

In his heart of hearts, Bilbo knew that Thorin did not care that much about him at all, not even a smidgen. He did not care for his opinion nor for his lack of experience in the wild. He made his contempt for the Hobbit known, and he was not ashamed about it. And personally, Bilbo thought him a rather grandiloquent, miserable lummox who ought to learn a thing or two about manners if he wanted to get far in life.

So what in goodness name was this grandiloquent, miserable lummox sitting next to _him_ for?

Bilbo stared at Thorin. Thorin stared back.

Everyone stared at them.

An awkward silence.

.

.

.

Thorin cleared his throat.

"So," he said, "how are you this morning, Master Baggins?"

The Hobbit did not answer. Instead, he scooped up a large spoonful of porridge and swallowed.

The wrong way, I am afraid.

Seconds later, Bilbo was choking, struggling to breathe. Hurriedly dropping his bowl, Thorin started slapping the Hobbit's back, pounding down hard to the point of the poor creature dropping to his knees.

He was still pounding even when Bilbo's coughing fit passed.

"OUCH! OW! THORIN! I'M FINE NOW! OUCH! EEK! SERIOUSLY! _**THORIN!**_ "

"Thorin Oakenshield, leave him be!" cried someone's voice.

The pounding stopped. Gasping for air, Bilbo looked to his right.

Gandalf stood there, a disappointed look on his face.

"Now really, Thorin, how off-putting for Mister Baggins! If you're wanting to make your peace with him, try not breaking him into _pieces!_ "

"Gandalf!" wheezed Bilbo. "What IS going on?!"

And then, little by little, it began to rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zu amraduh - You will be the death of me.  
> Ibzig zu - Damn you. (Bifur taking a leaf out of Óin's book. *Tut tut*) 
> 
> My face when I saw this story mentioned on tumblr - :D  
> My face when I saw it was tagged under "Fíli/Kíli" - :'O  
> In NO way shape and form is this a Durincest story. When I say "Fíli & Kíli", I mean it in a brotherly-feels way, so just to clarify, this is NOT Durincest.
> 
> This will probably be the last chapter I'll be writing for this until my exams end *wah*. And just when things get so exciting, too! Hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and please let me know what your fave/hate moments were (I know Bofur and Ori were being a bit off, but let's hoping they get better). :3 Also, if you're interested in doing some artwork for this lil' story, I'll - in no particular order - love you and praise you for eternity, and I'll feature them in these chapters. ^3^
> 
> Comments/kudos are welcome!
> 
> *~AI07~* :)


	3. Day 1: Afternoon Banter And Befriending Attempts Gone Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf is evasive, Bilbo fears for his life, and Thorin and Company are already fed up with their resolutions.

_**Day 1** : Continued._

_**Afternoon period** : Suffice to say, everyone was quite irritable as we continued to carry out our resolutions. Dori was complaining about Óin's use of obscene gestures, claiming that it counted as swearing. Nori was complaining about his fingers being itchy (he told me that this was from not being able to steal something in the last few hours - I told him he ought to find something else to distract him. He's taken to annoying Glóin now). Bofur was not his usual self. Then again, I was hardly myself, either, especially after what happened (by the way, Dwalin has a nice smile). And as for Thorin ... well, his "attempts" to befriend Master Baggins could do with a bit of improvement, I think. I've **never** seen a Hobbit ride away so fast._

_\- Ori._

* * *

"What do you mean, Thorin wants to _bond_ with me?"

"It's exactly as it sounds, Bilbo. Thorin would like to spend some time with you."

"But _why?_ What have I done to warrant such a thing?" cried Bilbo, pulling at his curls anxiously. "Is he trying to punish me?"

Gandalf laughed. "Goodness, what an active imagination you have! Of course he isn't trying to punish you – Thorin merely wants to improve his relations with you."

"If banging me on the back until it breaks is his way of bonding, then I honestly fear for my life if he should ever get angry!" barked the Hobbit in return, nearly startling poor Myrtle.

"He said he was sorry. He couldn't quite hear your protests over the sound of his back-slapping."

Bilbo glared at Gandalf. It was a rather lucky thing that the rain only lasted for a few minutes, otherwise it would have delayed the Company from moving on. They were now riding along on the road, with Gandalf leading the way as usual, followed by Bilbo and the rest (Bilbo kept especially close to the Wizard, as he was puzzling over, and _still_ more than spooked by, the bizarre behaviour of his Dwarven companions).

The Hobbit looked over his shoulder. Riding a few feet behind him was Balin, and directly behind him was Thorin Oakenshield himself. The dark-haired Dwarf wore a broody expression on his face. In all honesty, he just looked utterly _miserable_ , in the angry sense of the word. His eyebrows were pulled inwards, his lips were curved into a frown and his eyes were narrowed.

When their gazes suddenly locked, the Dwarf's eyebrows furrowed even more, his frown deepened and his eyes narrowed down to slits.

Immediately, Bilbo turned away, his cheeks blazing.

"Well, that's _definitely_ the face of somebody who wants to improve his relations with me," he remarked dryly.

He shook his head. "Really, Gandalf, Thorin looks like he would rather engage an Orc in conversation than spend even a minute in my presence."

"Do be sensible, dear Bilbo," tutted the Wizard, nonchalantly taking a drag on his pipe. Blowing out a few smoke-rings, he continued, "Thorin may be bull-headed and intimidating, but he's not entirely heartless. Granted, he's not the type of person to express himself in front of anybody that he doesn't know very well, but in time I think you'll find him to be a pleasant character. Once you get to know him, that is."

Bilbo cast a weary eye at Gandalf. "What makes you so sure that he wants to get to know _me_?"

"Oh, I have faith in him," Gandalf replied, blowing out a pair of inter-linking smoke rings, which grew in size and faded away quickly. "He may look reluctant now, but soon he and you will be joined at the hip, and I'm sure he'll enjoy it."

_I don't know if **I'll** enjoy it, though._

"Do chin up, Bilbo," Gandalf said cheerfully, patting the forlorn-looking Hobbit's shoulder. "You're being quite pessimistic about the whole thing. Why, you're so pessimistic, I believe Balin wouldn't be able to compete with you!"

"Actually, Gandalf, that's what I want to talk to you about," said Bilbo, wanting to change the subject ( _Thorin suddenly wanting to spend time with me, it makes my head ache to ponder over it_ ). "What happened this morning with the others …"

"Yes?"

"Well … it was _scary_ ," admitted Bilbo, remembering that morning's events. He shuddered, and shuddered again, as the memories filled his mind like water. "They acted very oddly and out of sorts. I mean, I've grown accustomed to their behaviours and personalities over the last few days, but to see them – _hear_ them! – suddenly acting out of the ordinary certainly gave me a scare! Balin, smiling for Middle Earth … Bofur, not touching a drop of ale … and Dwalin being sweeter than honey … and let's not even start with the others …"

He shook his head once more, his curls bouncing anxiously. "Really, I just don't understand what's going on with them. Perhaps you can explain to me about why they've gone mad all of a sudden."

Gandalf's eyes twinkled in a way that did little to soothe the Hobbit's nerves.

"Ah, Bilbo," he whispered. "They're just turning over a new leaf, that's all."

Bilbo stared at him suspiciously. "Why is that?"

"Why not?" his companion countered.

Before Bilbo could answer that evasive question, Gandalf chuckled, urging his pony to trot ahead, leaving behind a nettled Hobbit.

"All in good time, dear fellow," the Wizard murmured to himself. "You shall know, all in good time …"

* * *

"They're talking about me. I know they are."

"What makes you think that, Thorin?"

Thorin glared at Balin tiredly. "They've been riding closely together and whispering non-stop this entire time. Not to mention that Master Baggins looked in my direction only a few seconds ago. Of _course_ they're talking about me."

"I wouldn't worry about it too much if I were you, laddie," his advisor replied, smiling brightly. "Even if they were talkin' about you, perhaps it's about you havin' to spend time with Master Baggins. Wouldn't that be splendid?"

The dark-haired Dwarf growled under his breath. "Splendid? I'd rather talk to an Orc than spend a minute in that blasted Hobbit's presence!"

"That's rather an unfair thing to say," chided Balin, still smiling. "You hardly know Master Baggins. I dare say you've hardly interacted with him on this entire quest. The least you can do is make some sort of effort to get to know him a little, wouldn't you say?"

"I tried, didn't I?" Thorin huffed indignantly. "This morning, remember?"

"Admittedly, bangin' him on the back won't win you his friendship, but it's a start," conceded the white-haired Dwarf. "Still, you can do a lot better."

Thorin threw yet another glare at him. "I think I preferred you being pessimistic, Balin," he muttered.

The advisor's smile faltered somewhat. "At least I'm tryin', Thorin. It's not the easiest resolution, and it _is_ a bit tiresome, but if it means that this journey will become somewhat bearable for us all, I'm willin' to do my best to stick to it."

"At least _your_ resolution is a suitable one," the dark-haired Dwarf retorted. "Mine is practically a death sentence."

"You're exaggeratin', and you bloody well know it," Balin tutted, frowning. In a kindly tone, he added, "Thorin, it will only seem like a death sentence if you keep thinkin' it is. Just try talkin' to him. Civilly, mind. Talk to him about the weather – actually, don't, because I'll never live it down – ask about his interests, that sort of thing. Look, Gandalf's left the poor thing alone. Now is your chance to go and speak to him."

"Balin, I don't want to …"

"Go on," the white-haired Dwarf urged, his voice encouraging. "You can do it."

Thorin sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"So be it," he grumbled before urging his pony Eleanor to catch up to the Hobbit.

_Let's get this bloody thing over with._

In a few seconds, Thorin had caught up to Bilbo, who stared after the Wizard riding ahead of him.

He barely registered the Dwarf's presence until he heard a gruff, "Ahem."

Bilbo had a start when he saw who had appeared beside him. "Oh! H-hello, Thorin. What, er, a surprise."

Thorin could not help but raise an eyebrow in response.

"Are you always so easily frightened, Master Baggins?" he remarked pointedly.

Flushing furiously, the Hobbit spluttered, "N-no! No, of course not! It's just that I don't expect to see somebody there when I'm by myself –"

"Would you prefer me to leave you alone?"

The flush deepened. "Goodness, I didn't say that! No, what I meant to say is that … oh, botheration, how can I put this … what I was trying to say is that when someone appears out of thin air, it's only natural to get a fright."

Thorin pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes. "Do I frighten you?"

Bilbo was redder than red. "Frighten me? Really, Thorin, how absurd of you to think of such a thing –"

" _Absurd?_ " repeated Thorin, his eyes becoming slits once more. He was growing annoyed with the smaller creature's babbling, but the moment the word "Absurd" escaped his mouth, the Dwarf hit rock-bottom.

_Absurd? ABSURD? How **dare** he, the little …_

He scowled at the frightened-looking burglar, who had shrunk under his gaze. "You think that I am acting the fool, Master Baggins?"

Poor Bilbo whimpered. "Thorin, I –"

"Well, do you?" Thorin barked sharply, glaring with all his might at the other being.

"Er, I, uh, ummm, Thorin, erm," gibbered the Hobbit pathetically before pausing, gulping and then, crying, "GANDALF!", quickly riding away on Myrtle to catch up to the Wizard for want of safety …

… and leaving behind a furious-looking Dwarf.

As soon as Balin was at his side again, Thorin muttered darkly, "He's hopeless."

"No, Thorin," the advisor sighed, shaking his head. " _You're_ hopeless."

* * *

_I'm goin' to kill Gandalf. I'm goin' to cut him into pieces. I'm goin' to cut off his head and feed it to a Warg. I'm goin' to poison his drink. I'm goin' to switch his tobacco with a poisonous herb. I'm goin' to skewer him with his own staff._

_I. Am. Goin'. To. **KILL**. HIM._

These were the thoughts that were running through Dwalin's mind as he rode along on the road. It was because of his resolution that kept him from voicing these thoughts out loud, and it only served to make him even angrier.

The reason for his anger? Why, it was because of those pesky buggers that were riding behind him.

"Say, Dwalin, do you think I would look good with a ponytail? A ponytail would make a great change from braids, wouldn't you say?"

"Ooh yes, Dwalin, tell Fíli what a great idea that is! A ponytail would look fetching, I think. Huh, Dwalin? What do you say?"

It took all the bald warrior Dwarf's strength to repress a growl in response to ALL the inane, innocent-sounding questions that Fíli and Kíli threw at him in the last half-hour, let alone these two enquiries.

Instead, he could only turn around, smile at the pair (albeit weakly), and say, "Aye. A ponytail would be a good look on you, Fíli."

"Aw, you're too kind, Dwalin," gushed the golden-haired prince. "Isn't he, Kíli?"

"So kind," agreed Kíli, smiling at Dwalin brightly. "A kinder soul never lived!"

Dwalin turned away, biting his tongue to prevent himself from cursing.

Ever since they had departed their temporary camping site, the brothers had ridden right behind Dwalin on their ponies, Hazelnut and Chestnut, annoying their second cousin not only to pass the time, but also to take advantage of his resolution. Technically, Fíli and Kíli's resolution – to not to get themselves or anyone else into trouble, or go looking for it, either – meant they were not supposed to be bothering anyone, like they were doing with Dwalin, as it meant they were deliberately looking for trouble. However, because Dwalin _had_ to show his soft side as part of his resolution, and because of the added condition in Dwalin's resolution – to show his soft side _especially_ when Fíli and Kíli were around – they were _not_ violating their resolution in any way.

And believe you me, they were milking it for all it was worth.

"Dwalin, have I ever told you that you have a fantastic beard?" asked Fíli innocently.

The tall Dwarf clenched his teeth in exasperation. _Breathe, Dwalin, breathe._ "Thank you very much, Fíli. How nice of you to say."

"Personally, I think your beard could do with a bit of braiding," piped up Kíli. "How about it, Dwalin? Braiding or no braiding?"

"An interestin' suggestion, Kíli. I'll keep it in mind."

"Oh no, braiding wouldn't do!" cried Fíli. "It looks lovely the way it is. Right, Dwalin?"

"Whatever suits you, dear Fíli."

"No no no, Dwalin, you'd look absolutely _fine_ with braids in your beard," the dark-haired prince declared. "Very fine, indeed. Your appearance would improve _dramatically_!"

"You're really bein' kind to me, dear Kíli."

"Dwalin, say it isn't so! Keep the braid-less beard, I beg you!"

"No, Dwalin, don't listen to him!"

"Dwalin –!"

"Dwaaalin –!"

" _Oh, grow a pair, you two!_ "

For your information, it was not Dwalin who had bellowed this, although he was just about to explode at that moment.

Stunned, the bald warrior Dwarf and the princes swiveled around.

Ori's cheeks were blazing red when their eyes fell on him. However, upon seeing their flabbergasted expressions, Fíli and Kili's expressions in particular, the scribe sat up straight on his pony and proclaimed, "Honestly, for a couple of princes, you both act more like idiots than anything else."

The princes' mouths dropped open.

"What did you say?" they managed to utter.

Ori rolled his eyes obstinately, urging his pony Daisy to trot past the princes as he said, "Goodness, you have two pairs of ears between you. _One_ of you should have at least heard."

This response rendered them dumbstruck, especially Dwalin.

 _By my blessed beard, I've never heard Ori speak like_ this _before …_

Ori and Daisy were now riding beside him and his pony, Finola. Fíli and Kíli no longer bothered the bald warrior Dwarf for the rest of the ride.

Dwalin looked to his right. Ori felt his eyes on him and turned to the left, meeting the tall Dwarf's gaze. A faint blush still lingered on his cheeks.

Dwalin smiled. "Thank you, Ori," he whispered softly.

The scribe offered a small smile of his own before turning his attention to the road ahead.

* * *

"For fu – er, _goodness_ sake, Dori, quit your shovin'. You're makin' Briar Rose jittery."

"I'm not shovin'," Dori grumbled in reply to Óin. "You're just ridin' too slow."

The healer snorted. "If you're not shovin', then I'm a pretty little Elf princess."

Dori growled. "Just ride a little faster, alright? We'll never get anywhere at this rate."

Óin shook his head at the silver-haired Dwarf. "Dori, Ori is perfectly safe. You can observe him just fine from where you are, although you're not supposed to be fussin' over him anyway …"

"The resolution was to fuss _less_ over him, if you didn't hear it the first time," barked Dori, "even though "fuss" is such an ugly word."

Óin rolled his eyes. " _I_ didn't need to hear it because it's not _my_ resolution. Anyway, don't be so _darn_ catty. It's not like I was swearin'."

Dori rubbed his aching temples. "Forget it. No one understands a brother's worry."

"Despite the fact that this company is made up _entirely_ of brothers, minus three?" queried the healer tartly.

The silver-haired Dwarf glowered. "Perhaps I should have said a _responsible,_ _older_ brother's worry."

It was the grey-haired Dwarf's turn to glower. "Are you sayin' I'm not responsible?"

"If the boot fits …"

Óin knew it was Dori's temper talking – by Mahal, he had enough experience to recognise the difference between one's true feelings and one's temper. After all, he had hair-trigger-tempered Glóin for a brother! But the healer, already riled after being forced awake at a _wretched_ hour, eating a _ghastly_ breakfast and getting wet after that _darned_ rainfall …

Biting back the curse on the tip of his tongue, Óin turned his back on Dori, who smiled to himself in personal triumph.

The smile was wiped clear off his face when the healer raised his right hand, his middle finger extended towards the heavens.

* * *

Glóin could feel the hot gaze on his back, and he could not help but chuckle to himself.

"See somethin' you like?" he purred, turning to look over his shoulder.

Nori tore his hungry eyes away from the silver hair-clasp secured in the fiery red hair and looked at its owner with a huffy expression. "Just because I can't touch nuffink, that don't mean I can't 'ave a look."

"True enough," Glóin conceded. "However, if I find you starin' too long at somethin', I'll assume you're plannin' to pinch it."

The thief rolled his eyes. "'Struth, Glóin, I'm bloody well amazed at yer faith in me."

The fiery-haired Dwarf grinned. "I believe in you, alright. You'll do me _so_ proud."

The sarcasm was all too evident in his voice, and it made Nori scowl in response. Chuckling, Glóin turned his attention to the front. He was now in a cheerful mood after that exchange.

_Dear Nori. It's always great to get one-up on him._

But the mood did not last very long when something pulled sharply at his hair.

"OW!" he cried as the sensation of pain filled his head. His loud cry startled his pony, Brunella.

Rubbing at the spot where his hair was pulled, the fiery-haired Dwarf turned around, an angry glare fast-forming on his face.

His gaze fell on Nori, who stared back at him with an innocent smile, one which made Glóin feel more than highly annoyed.

"What'd you pull my hair for?" Glóin growled, glowering for Middle Earth.

The star-shaped-haired Dwarf merely shrugged. "Because I felt like it."

Glóin narrowed his eyes dangerously and clenched his fists. "You little piece of –"

"Now, now, Glóin, let's not lose our temper," Nori crooned, his fox-like eyes all a-glitter. "It won't do you any good t'get angry. Besides, righ' …"

He paused, savouring this moment.

"... If I can't lay a finger on any bloke's stuff, _you_ can't lay a finger on me."

The fiery-haired Dwarf stared darkly at the grinning thief.

"When this month ends," he rumbled, "I'll make sure you'll never see the light of day ever again."

"Temper, temper, darlin'," Nori chided with a smirk. "By the way, purple suits you."

Furiously turning his back on the star-shaped-haired Dwarf, Glóin, his skin purple with unmistakable rage, tried to calm himself down with thoughts of murdering the thief in different kinds of ways.

Smirking to himself, Nori gazed wistfully at the decadent, silver hairbeads secured in Kíli's hair.

His fingers began to itch, and it was not because of the bee-stings.

* * *

"Oh, _Bifuuurrrr_ …"

Bifur groaned. " _Bofur, Rofur_ _ul_ _, zu amraduh_ ," he muttered as his cousin materialised beside him, a mischievous-looking grin plastered across his face and his topaz-blue eyes twinkling underneath his hat.

"Goodness, Bifur, ye needn't sound so testy," Bofur half-sang, half-whined. "Even when Bom and I were kiddies, _I_ was always the one ye got testy with. And here we are, and yer at it again!"

" _At least your brother didn't_ _ **lie**_ _to Bilbo this morning_ ," the axe-embedded Dwarf signed, glaring at Bofur. " _It's bad enough that you forced me to tell him that I was going to court somebody, but_ _that was a full-faced lie you told him. I_ _ **never**_ _tried to tell you who my One was in front of everyone last night, and you know it._ "

"Calm yer tits, my darlin' cousin," Bofur said calmly. "I had to make the story sound legitimate. Aye, Bombur?"

Bombur, who was riding beside his hat-wearing brother, only sighed forlornly in response.

Bifur, feeling some sympathy for his youngest cousin, signed to him, " _Bombur, are you alright?_ "

The bigger Dwarf looked at him with a miserable expression. "I'm hungry," he whimpered, looking and sounding like a Dwarfling.

His older cousin clucked his tongue sympathetically. " _We shall be stopping to eat soon._ _Then_ _I'll give you some of my food_ _so that you can have something to nibble on whilst we're on this journey_ _. It's a terrible resolution you got, but at least you're holding up._ "

" _My_ resolution is just as terrible, no thanks to ye," grumbled Bofur, taking his turn to glare at Bifur. "Mahal's sainted knickers, I could do with a drink right about now, but at least I'm not complainin'."

Bifur rolled his eyes. " _You'd be drinking up a storm if it weren't for my resolution._ "

Bofur smiled. "Ye see, Bif? I need to make sure ye stick to yer resolution if ye want me to stick to mine. We're even stevens. And since we're on the subject of yer resolution, it's time to give ye some instructions to get ye started."

The axe-embedded Dwarf groaned again. " _How a rascal like you came to be related to me, only Mahal knows._ "

"How ye do go on," gushed his younger cousin, who reached out to tug a black lock. "Now, first things first. Can ye give us an indication as to who yer One could be?"

Bifur narrowed his eyes. " _If you must now, his name contains the letter "i"._ "

"Oh well, that just about rules out everyone here!" Bofur cried sarcastically to Bombur, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. He turned back to Bifur with a frown. "Is that the best clue ye can give us? After all, _everyone_ here, minus Gandalf, Bom and I, have the letter "i" in their names."

It was Bifur's turn to smile. " _You asked for a clue, and I gave you one._ "

"Fine," the hat-wearing Dwarf growled. His tone was quite agitated as he spoke – normally at this time of the afternoon, he would be having his customary drink, but his resolution left him high and dry and altogether vengeful, especially towards his cousin. "Now, listen carefully, Bif. Tomorrow, I want ye to start courtin' yer One. Ye can write a love letter, serenade him, compliment him – I don't care how ye do it, just get yer arse into gear. Otherwise, I shall gladly drink to my heart's content."

On that note, Bofur urged his pony Aria to ride ahead. Bombur looked at Bifur pitifully.

"I'm sorry, Bif," he apologised. "Bofur's never acted like this before. I daresay he's actin' worse than when he's full o' drink."

Bifur sighed. " _You needn't apologise, Bombur. It's not your fault. Bofur can be irritable when he's without drink for this long. Still,_ _that's no excuse. We can only hope that he can find something to distract him_ _from his urge to drink. Even if that happens to be tormenting me with my resolution._ "

"What're ye goin' to do about courtin' yer One tomorrow?"

Bifur sighed again. Looking ahead until his eyes settled on the back of his One, he finally signed, " _I'll think of something. I do believe his resolution will make it easier for me to court him. I can only hope._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bofur, Rofurul, zu amraduh - Bofur, son of Rofur, you will be the death of me.
> 
> Four months later and only NOW I update? Forgive me, I'm so sorry! I literally had writer's block with this story. Hopefully I shall update regularly from now on, or least every two weeks at best. Forgive me! Poor Bilbo. And poor Dwarves. XD We can only hope that they'll survive. Still, like Balin said, Thorin can do a whole lot better. By the way, what do you think of some of the ponies' names so far? :D Let me know what your fave/hate moments are below!
> 
> Comments/kudos are welcome!
> 
> *~AI07~* :)


	4. Day 1: Evening Exchanges And Other Nightly Pursuits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dwarves have given up on their resolutions. Gandalf is not impressed, so he decides to add a twist. An alliance is made, and Thorin ponders.

_**Day 1** : Continued._

_**Evening period** : A confrontation took place between ourselves and Gandalf regarding our resolutions. After hearing our complaints and chastising Thorin (my goodness, Thorin looked absolutely **fed up** after that!), Gandalf suggested an incentive system that would make us work harder at keeping to our resolutions. Everyone is either scared silly or revelling in light of this new development (Nori looks especially happy). Bifur asked me for some paper to write on. I don't know what he plans to write, but we will just have to see tomorrow. Dori got on my case, but Dwalin defended me. Still, I can't quite figure out why I get a funny feeling when he's around me … or when he smiles at me. I mean, it's not a **bad** funny feeling. It actually feels a little … nice … I think …?_

– _Ori._

* * *

"I feckin' can't take it any more, Gandalf!"

"Master Glóin, please keep your voice down. You'll wake up Bilbo."

Glóin growled. "I don't care if I attract the attention of an Orc pack – I've had just about enough with this resolution lark of yours, so you better call it off right now because Nori is GETTIN' ON MY LAST NERVE!"

Gandalf frowned at the fiery-haired, angry Dwarf. "If you have any further complaints, my dear Dwarf, I would appreciate it if you speak to me at a softer volume, please."

He turned his attention to the others. "And that goes for you lot, too, if you've got something to add to this _civil_ conversation. We wouldn't want to disturb our burglar's sleep, would we?"

Indeed, Bilbo was already fast asleep despite it still being quite early in the evening. He had crept into his bed-roll after they had set up camp for the night and ate their supper. Whether his turning in early was attributed to his being unable to withstand his companions' strange behaviours, or because he wanted to avoid Thorin Oakenshield and his glares, or if he really was tired, one could not say, although Gandalf personally thought it had to do with all three ( _what with the way these Dwarves are acting and with Thorin's death-stares, I would be tired, too_ ).

The Hobbit stirred slightly in his sleep when Glóin's voice rang throughout the camp, but fortunately for Gandalf, he did not wake up ( _amazing how he can stay asleep when_ _13 Dwarves make a ruckus in his home as they're leaving, yet Bombur's snoring can easily rouse him – I'm surprised_ _that_ _Glóin's voice didn't have the same effect!_ ).

Glóin's cheeks puffed up, but he obeyed the Wizard's words. He lowered the volume of his voice, though his tone was still heated.

"Nori's been tryin' to get back at me for the resolution I gave him by takin' advantage of mine," he complained. "He knows I can't lose my temper so he's been rilin' me up all day, and suffice to say I'm fed up to the hilt!"

" _Yer_ fed up?" cut in Nori, glaring at Glóin as he rubbed his hands. "Blimey, you don't know what it's like, not bein' allowed to touch anyfink, no thanks to you. It makes my 'ands itchy finkin' about it! If we keep this resolution rubbish up, I swear I'll lose my touch! What good is a thief who can't even nick a coin, I ask you?"

"At least _you_ both don't have a couple of idiots badgerin' on at you," Dwalin growled, sending a particularly vicious death-stare in the direction of Fíli and Kíli, who tried to look innocent. "Upon Mahal's beard, if it hadn't been for Ori shuttin' those fools up, I swear I would've clubbed them on their heads. I dare say that they would have deserved it and all!"

"Rightfully so!" barked Dori, giving the princes disapproving looks, especially Kíli (for it was Kíli who had given Ori his resolution, if you can remember). "Their _atrocious_ behaviour provoked Ori. My goodness, to hear that my brother acted so _rudely_ came as a shock! He wouldn't have done so if I had been there!"

"But Dori, I _wasn't_ being rude," piped up Ori, sounding uncharacteristically indignant, to Gandalf's surprise and delight. "I was telling them to stop annoying Mister Dwalin, is all."

Dwalin nodded. "Aye, he was doin' the right thing."

Ori smiled at the tall Dwarf before facing Dori again, saying, "See? Even Mister Dwalin agrees that I wasn't rude."

"I don't care what Dwalin says," the silver-haired Dwarf replied, frowning. "It's one thing to be firm, but it's another to be impolite, especially in the presence of princes, even if they _were_ bein' foolish. I'll have no brother of mine practisin' bad manners."

"But Dori –" Ori cried, standing up.

"Don't argue, Ori," the eldest Ri shushed, clasping his youngest brother's shoulder and gently pushing him back down. "Although I'm a wee bit disappointed, it's already happened and there's nothin' we can do about it. Of course, if it weren't for Mister Gandalf's daft idea and Master Kíli's equally daft resolution, we could have prevented this."

"Dori, would you just _listen_ –!"

"End of discussion, little one," Dori shushed again, gently yet firmly.

The scribe looked down at his lap with a furious expression, bottling up his anger and frustrations for the time-being.

"And I can't even _begin_ to explain my frustrations with Óin," Dori continued, looking in the aforementioned Dwarf's direction. "He deliberately threw an obscene gesture in my direction today. So profane! It was as if he was swearin' out loud."

Óin's own cheeks puffed up as well. "You try to stop swearin' when you please!" he snapped. "It's almost as bloody easy as you havin' to stop your fussin' over Ori or Balin havin' to act so damn cheerful all the time."

Balin sighed. "Indeed, my resolution has all but drained my energy. I don't know how long I can keep this up. How anyone can be so chirpy for long periods of time is unfathomable to think about. Bein' chirpy is more suitable for Bofur than for me."

"Oh aye, I'm _certainly_ chirpy," Bofur said dryly.

His voice rose in pitch as he spoke. "I haven't had a drink since yesterday, I'm thirsty as hell, my brother is starvin' and my blessed cousin is bein' a stubborn donkey about revealin' who his One is … I couldn't be happier!"

He threw a dark look at Bifur. "Chirpy is _definitely_ how I'm feelin', alright!" he added in a low snarl.

" _At least he isn't mad,_ " signed Bifur underhandedly against Óin's side when Bofur was not looking, rolling his eyes in a sarcastic manner. He smiled a little as the healer tried to stifle a guffaw.

"These resolutions have been nought but trouble," proclaimed Glóin, once again addressing Gandalf. "It's only served to give us grief and nothin' more."

"Glóin is right, Gandalf," said Thorin, looking as tired as he sounded. "These resolutions are hardly making this journey bearable for _any_ of us, let alone your miserable burglar."

The dark-haired Dwarf pointed in Bilbo's direction.

"Aside from that," he continued, "my resolution is coming to nothing. Master Baggins clearly wants nothing to do with me. It's as if he can't abide to spend even a minute in my presence. And to be perfectly honest, the feeling is mutual."

He crossed his arms. "I think I speak for all of us when I say that we ought to call this disastrous little experiment of yours off."

"Quite right, Thorin!" the others chorused (apart from Ori, who was still sulking).

"Goodness gracious, you Dwarves give up too easily!" Gandalf cried, shaking his head as he addressed his companions. "And after your _first_ day, which hasn't even ended yet!"

He looked directly at Thorin. "The others, I can somewhat understand, but _you_ , Thorin Oakenshield, can hardly be absolved. Your efforts to make your peace with Bilbo Baggins are not exactly what I would call "good". "Hopeless" would be the appropriate term, I think. And "minimal", whilst I'm at it. The Hobbit looked like he had a heart attack after you attempted to engage him in conversation this afternoon. And the ugly looks that you direct at him aren't helping. I mean, are you even trying?"

Thorin scowled. "He implied that I was a fool."

"He did no such thing, though I'm sure he would agree that you're acting like one right now," the Wizard replied sternly. "The way you acted in front of him, it's no wonder that he couldn't get a coherent sentence out. And you didn't even deign to apologise! Your poor behaviour, I must say, is inexcusable."

"Gandalf's right, Uncle," Fíli spoke up. "You _are_ being a bit harsh on Master Baggins."

"A _bit_?" interrupted Kíli, incredulous. "Uncle is a nasty piece of work when it comes to Bilbo Baggins. Even _Dwalin_ isn't as bad, and we get on his nerves all the time!"

Whilst Dwalin was trying to figure out if the dark-haired prince had paid him a compliment or an insult, Thorin narrowed his eyes at his nephews.

"A nasty piece of work, am I?"

"Kíli's got a point, Uncle," answered Fíli. "Master Baggins hasn't wronged you in any way, and yet you detest him more than Azog the Defiler. Why is that?"

"I don't detest him _that_ much," the older Dwarf huffed.

"But you detest him nevertheless," supplied Kíli. "And you have no reason to, I'm sure."

Thorin glowered at the young Dwarves. "How I feel about the Hobbit is none of your concern."

"Fine," his golden-haired heir shrugged. "We won't meddle any more in your business. But here's a thought to think about, Uncle: if it were me, Kíli or any one of us in Master Baggins' place, and we had to contend with your ill-treatment, we'd be a bit frightened, too."

"If anyone, be it a Dwarf, Elf or Man, had to treat any of us the way you treat Master Baggins, you'd have a flying fit," added Kíli sagely.

"Finished?" asked Thorin impatiently.

The princes scowled at him.

"Hopeless," they muttered before subsiding into silence.

Gandalf had to agree. Still, he was not about to lose hope just yet.

"Enough," he said, getting everyone's attention. "I realise that you lot are frustrated, but I didn't expect you to give up on the first day. That is why I say that we are going to continue with the resolutions."

A chorus of groans hit his ears (a particularly loud one emanated from Thorin's person), but the Wizard ignored them.

"You lot will feel even more frustrated in the first few days, but I guarantee that you'll get used to the routine fairly quickly thereafter. That, and I'm sure you'll stick to your resolutions with the provision of a few … _incentives_."

"Incentives?" repeated Nori, canting his head to the side. "What d'you mean, _incentives_?"

The Wizard smiled at the star-shaped-haired Dwarf. "Simple, Nori. Incentives that will motivate you and keep you from touching the others' possessions, and keep the others from straying off their assigned paths."

"Will you quit speakin' in riddles and tell us what you're jabberin' on about?" Dwalin snapped ( _Mahal's beard, he never gets to the bloody point!_ ).

Gandalf tutted. "You have no appreciation for dramatics, Master Dwalin."

"I've got not time for them, either."

Tutting again, Gandalf settled his gaze on the Dwarves. "The incentive is this: in order to stick to your resolutions, the Dwarf who assigned you your resolution shall monitor you for the entire month. If he sees you violating your resolution, he shall punish you in any which way he pleases."

The Company stared at the Wizard.

"Are you serious?" asked Dori, sounding flabbergasted.

"Very serious, my dear Dori," answered Gandalf with an affirmative nod.

"Yer not kiddin' us?" asked Bofur, not sure if he wanted to laugh or cry.

"I kid you not, Bofur."

"I'm not quite sure I follow, Mister Gandalf," piped up Bombur.

"Perhaps I should give you an example," replied the Wizard, smiling at the big Dwarf. "And since I'm speaking to you, I might as well use you in my example, Master Bombur."

"Why is it always me that gets picked on?" grumbled Bombur.

The Wizard began his explanation: "Say, in a hypothetical situation, Bombur decides he's had enough of his resolution, that being not to purloin any food when no one is looking … well, _if_ he takes a chance to help himself, but Dwalin – who gave him his resolution – happens to catch him in the act, then Dwalin has the right to punish Bombur as he sees fit, albeit non-physically, obviously – we don't want anyone to get killed on this journey. If the others happen to witness Bombur's act, it still falls on Dwalin to carry out the punishment."

Bombur whimpered at that; Dwalin only grinned maniacally.

"Of course," Gandalf continued, "if Balin decides he's had enough of being optimistic, and Bombur – having assigned Balin his resolution – sees him committing a pessimistic act, gesture or speech, then Bombur can do what he likes to him."

"Oh dear," muttered Balin, a little unnerved at having to keep up his optimistic front.

"Or Fíli can punish Dwalin if the latter decides to drop his soft side."

Dwalin's grin immediately disappeared; Fíli's smile was radiant.

"So, my dear friends," Gandalf was finishing off, "if you see your assigned Dwarf doing the opposite of what they were allotted, then you are allowed to penalise them. However, don't forget that you're being watched, too."

"If I spot Dori tryin' to mother-hen Ori, righ', I can do what I like to 'im?" asked Nori, his foxy orbs glittering madly.

"Yes, Nori."

"So if I see Nori tryin' to steal something, I can kick his arse?" asked Glóin, looking much more cheerful now.

"Yes, Glóin. Again, just don't kill him."

"If Bifur doesn't start courtin' his One, I can drink?" asked Bofur hopefully – and malevolently.

Bifur frowned. " _That's stupid. If you drink, then_ _ **I**_ _have to punish you._ "

"Ah, but remember, yer resolution is that _ye_ have to court yer One in order to keep me away from drinkin'," his hat-wearing cousin reminded him.

"Hmm, that is a bit of a conundrum," Gandalf thought aloud. "I'll have to think about that one, Bifur and Bofur."

"Heh heh, I can taste that ale now," Bofur chuckled, giving his cousin a cheeky grin.

Bifur would have gotten up, marched over to Bofur and boxed his ears if it was not for Óin laying a calming hand on his shoulder, keeping him in his seat.

"Good grief, the hell you must be goin' through for this One of yours," the healer muttered.

The axe-embedded Dwarf's cheeks flushed.

" _He's worth it_ ," he whispered in Khuzdûl.

But evidently, partially-deaf Óin did not hear his friend's words, for his attention, as well as everybody else's, was on Thorin as he addressed the Wizard once more.

"I suppose that means _you'll_ be watching me," he asked in a tart tone. "After all, you gave me my blasted resolution in the first place."

Gandalf shrugged. "I suppose I'll have to, though it won't be fun at all if you're not going to bother making an effort to befriend Bilbo."

"Not again …" Thorin groaned.

Gandalf shook his head at him. "Utterly hopeless," he remarked under his breath.

To the rest of the Dwarves, he said, "Now that we've had our discussion, I suggest that we all retire for the night. Tomorrow is a new day, and I'd like to see you all do your best. It's for your own good, as well as that of myself and Master Baggins, that we're doing this. Bifur, you're on first watch."

The Dwarves and the Wizard dispersed, each with their own thoughts in mind.

* * *

Ori nearly jumped when he felt the tap on his shoulder. He looked up from his journal to see Bifur standing before him, and smiled. The young Dwarf used to be intimidated by Bifur when they first met, but he quickly grew to like him. After all, Bifur was a gentle, caring soul – and also like a mother-hen to his cousins, like Dori was to his brothers.

 _I dare say Dori and Bifur are more alike than they think. Same with Nori and Bofur, and Bombur and me._ _Could Dori be Bifur's One, I wonder …?_

"Hello, Mister Bifur," he greeted. "That was quite a lecture. Gandalf's nearly as bad as Dori – only don't tell Dori I said so."

" _My lips are sealed_ ," the axe-embedded Dwarf promised, patting the scribe's shoulder. " _Ori, may I ask you_ _a favour?_ "

"Of course," answered Ori. "What can I do for you?"

" _Could you perhaps lend me a few blank pages from your journal and a_ _pen_ _to write with_ _?_ "

Ori raised an eyebrow, but said, "I don't see why not."

He tore out several sheets and passed them, along with an extra pen, to the older Dwarf, who bowed in thanks.

" _Dôlzekh menu_ ," he murmured. He then turned on his heels before Ori could ask him what he was planning to write.

_Maybe I'll ask him in the morning. Bifur is talented with his fingers when it comes to carving, although I'm not sure that writing is his element. Still, I'm just a simple scribe. I've been proved wrong before –_

"Ori?"

Ori nearly gave a start ( _I really must stop getting these frights!_ ). Looking up once more, his eyes met that of a certain, tattooed Dwarf, who looked down at him with a small smile.

"Oh, hello, Mister Dwalin," said Ori, feeling his face go warm ( _why?!_ ). "Can I help you?"

"I just wanted to tell you, Ori," said Dwalin in a low whisper, "that your brother was wrong, you know. About what happened today, that is."

Trying in vain to hide his rising flush, the scribe waved a dismissive hand. "Please, Mister Dwalin, that's all out the way now –"

"It isn't with me," interrupted Dwalin, frowning now. "I, for one, applaud the way you dealt with those childish second-cousins of mine. Mahal knows that I was goin' to lose my temper with 'em if you hadn't stepped in at the right moment."

"It was nothing …"

"Hardly," urged the bald warrior Dwarf. "Cuttin' those two down to size will go down in my book as the equivalent of killin' a Dragon. Dori doesn't think so, but _I_ do. It was darn right admirable, what you did."

Ori looked down at his lap, tucking a strand of hair behind his crimson-coloured ear.

"Thank you, Mister Dwalin," he murmured softly.

A lengthy, and slightly awkward, pause followed.

Clearing his throat and shuffling his feet, Dwalin finally said, "Er, well, that's all I wanted to tell you, Ori."

"Thank you," Ori softly said again.

"Uh, you have a good night, then."

"You, too, Mister Dwalin."

"Good night."

"Good night."

On that note, Dwalin – smiling that small smile once more – walked away, unknowingly passing by Dori, who shot him a glare. The silver-haired Dwarf watched him until he reached Balin's side and walked straight over to Ori, who was still looking down at his lap with an uncomfortable expression on his face.

"What did Dwalin say to you, Ori?" he asked point-blank.

His brother looked up at him, looking somewhat tired. His voice, however, was firm as he said:

"Nothing for you to worry about, Dori. I'd rather leave it at that."

The scribe got up and made his way to his bed-roll to write his notes for the evening, leaving behind a very, very, _very_ worried-looking Dori.

* * *

"Uh oh, I spy a mischievous glint in yer eyes," sang Bofur, grinning. "What kind of trouble are ye plannin' to brew up, if I may ask?"

Nori's lips were curled into a menacing grin of his own, although he tried to sound nonchalant as he prepared his bed-roll. "You got me, Bofur. This business wiv these incentives is interestin', an' if it means I can earn a coin or two out of it, as well as some entertainment, then I'm bloody well all fer it."

"Trust ye to take advantage of this business," the hat-wearing Dwarf laughed. "The moment ye get a whiff of gold up yer nostrils, yer like a Warg on the warpath."

"Funny, I was gonna say the same thing about you and yer drinkin', mate," Nori retorted.

"I'm not _that_ bad," Bofur responded, frowning. "Stick to the subject. What are ye plannin'?"

Nori smiled. "Wotcher fink? Try an' cop you lot t'break yer resolutions, of course."

"How entertainin'," Bofur purred, stretching out in his bed-roll. He looked up at the star-shaped-haired Dwarf, who was busy securing his elaborate hairstyle with extra clips ( _fussy show-pony, he is_ ). "And where does the money part come in?"

Nori smirked at him. "That's fer me to know and you to find out."

"Aw, yer no fun," Bofur whined, pouting.

The thief rolled his eyes. "You really are a whiny tart," he remarked, settling down into his bed-roll. "Even you don't whine this much when yer plastered out of yer skull."

"I resent that," grumbled the hat-wearing Dwarf. He gently punched Nori's arm, careful not to push too hard against his stung skin. "Come on, ye can trust me. How are ye gonna make a mint out of this whole thing?"

Nori finally conceded ( _whiny sod, 'e is, 'im and that pout_ ).

"Easy. I'll be makin' wagers wiv the others about who will attempt t'break their resolutions. It's not a matter of who does it first or fer 'ow long they'll last. Fer me, it's a matter of me endin' up wiv the winnings at the end of the day wiv the help of my saboteur skills."

"Sabotage?"

"Yes. A few blokes 'ere actually reckon that Dori won't fuss over Ori as much, believe it or not. But wiv a few wee pushes from me, his darlin' bruvver, Dori will be all over that poor boy in a matter of seconds and I'll be walkin' away wiv a pretty amount of brass."

"How cruel."

"It won't be so cruel compared to when I plan t'make Glóin lose 'is temper. Óin made a bit of brass off me when 'e bet that Bilbo would come along on this quest, and I intend t'get it back wiv some interest."

Bofur chuckled. "Yer good at gettin' on Glóin's nerves, alright. I can definitely see the monetary and entertainment value there."

"And do you know what the best part of it all is?" giggled Nori. "It was _Ori_ who assigned 'im that impossible resolution. If Gloin makes a total fluff-head of 'imself, _I_ can influence Ori t'give 'im the worst punishment imaginable. And Dori will go bonkers, seein' Ori act so brutal, and 'e'll hit the roof because 'e knows 'e can't touch Ori. I swear on Mahal's name, this time next week I'll be a millionaire and laughin' all the way to the bank!"

Bofur laughed. "Yer so terrible. And here I thought I was bein' cruel to Bifur."

"Us cruel cats ought to stick together in situations like these," the thief said, rubbing his itching hands. "Although these plans of mine are righ' good distractions, there are still temptations t'face."

Looking at the other Dwarf, he added, "'Ere's an idea, righ'. If _you_ make sure that I don't nick anyfink, _I'll_ make sure that you don't touch a drop of drink. How 'bout it?"

Bofur grinned. "I thought Gandalf was still tryin' to figure that puzzle out."

"In all 'onesty, mate, Gandalf will probably set Bifur loose on yer arse if you so much as 'ave a look at a flask of ale. 'E's more sympathetic towards 'im because the resolution you gave 'im is basically blackmail."

The hat-wearing Dwarf furrowed his eyebrows in thought. "Yer probably right."

Nori gave him a "Of course, I know everything" look. "So does that mean we 'ave a deal or wha'?"

"Deal," Bofur said, taking the thief's hand and giving it a shake. "Ye watch out fer me, and I'll watch out fer ye."

"Cheers, Bof, I appreciate it," replied Nori, yawning. "See you in the mornin'."

"G'night, partner," the hat-wearing Dwarf answered, turning his back on the thief and feeling more than ready to go to sleep. The thought of his usual evening drink hardly entered his mind when he spoke to Nori.

Nori, too, curled up in his bed-roll. He did not want to say so, but the moment Bofur let go of his hand, the itchiness all but disappeared.

* * *

_Confound my nephews. Confound the Wizard. And confound Bilbo Baggins for bringing this mess upon us all._

Thorin emitted a low growl as he laid in his bed-roll, thinking these bitter thoughts. The confrontation with the Wizard did not go so well, and it only ended up with the dark-haired Dwarf getting rebuked as if he were a child – not only by Gandalf, but by _Fíli and Kíli_ as well … and in front of _everyone!_

How could Thorin _not_ be mad?

Still, that did not stop him from running an affectionate hand through his sleeping boys' hair – golden-blonde and dark-brown, respectively – before he got into his own bed-roll. It was a habit that stemmed from the days when Fíli and Kíli were youngsters. When one of them used to have a nightmare, he would run a comforting hand through their hair, muttering some soothing words under his breath that would relax them. Although they no longer had any nightmares – instead they nursed dreams of reclaiming Erebor and revelling in glory alongside their Uncle – Thorin continued to carry out the affectionate gesture.

_There may come a time when I shall no longer be able to do this._

He loved Fíli and Kíli as if they were his own children. He had taken them under his wing when their father, Mahal bless his soul, abruptly lost his life all those years ago. Despite his role as the King, Thorin tried his best to make it known to his sister-sons that he was their uncle – their second father – who treasured them more than all the precious gems in the world. He did not want to "lord it over them", just because of his high position. They were his family, not mere subjects.

But there were times when they could be right hooligans.

He did not enjoy having to hear Dwalin complaining about the two, and it did irk him to hear Dori calling them "foolish". Their antics got on his nerves, yes, but they did not mean anything by it. They were just trying to make light of the situation that they were in.

Other times, they could be too clever for their own good.

Thorin growled again. Despite how irritated he was with them after they put in their own comments during the discussion, he had to admit that what Fíli and Kíli said to him earlier made a lot of sense.

 _Uncle is a nasty piece of work when it comes to Bilbo Baggins. Even_ Dwalin _isn't as bad, and we get on his nerves all the time!_

_If it were me, Kíli or any one of us in Master Baggins' place, and we had to contend with your ill-treatment, we'd be a bit frightened, too._

_If anyone, be it a Dwarf, Elf or Man, had to treat any of us the way you treat Master Baggins, you'd have a flying fit._

The dark-haired Dwarf sighed. _Yes, how is it I seldom lose my temper with my own sister-sons who get into all sorts of mischief, yet I explode when the Hobbit so much as says "Hello"?_

Bilbo Baggins did not disrespect him in any way, as far as Thorin knew, but he knew that he was intimidated by him. The burglar boasted talents that Nori wished he could possess (or so Gandalf told him), and he seemed congenial enough. He never said a rude word about his companions, Dwarves though they were, and he had to admit that he was indeed quite accommodative when it came to tolerating their habits, their customs, their attitudes and their personalities.

 _And yet we …_ I _… hardly know a thing about him …_

 _So why_ is _it that I detest Master Bilbo Baggins so much?_

Thorin looked up at the star-strewn sky, as if he were seeking out the answer from the heavens.

Unfortunately, he could not find it.

Not three. Not two. Not even _one_.

_None._

Thorin shut his eyes, breathing in sharply to clear his aching head.

_Are they right? Have I really been acting the fool towards Master Baggins all this time?_

_You could say that,_ a voice whispered somewhere from the back of head.

_What am I do? If I've been nasty to him, he won't want anything to do with me._

_It's never too late to apologise, nor is it too late to give him another chance._

_If this is somehow the voice of Gandalf that has trespassed into my mind, answer me this: do you think he will forgive me? Will he give_ me _a chance?_

 _It never hurts to try. Do it not because you feel you have to – do it because you genuinely_ want _to. If he sees you being sincere, then perhaps there is hope yet. And no, this is your own conscience speaking to you. I've been here all the time. It's just that you never listened to me before._

_I'll take your word for it._

Turning on his side, Thorin let his gaze wander to where the Hobbit lay asleep. The small, evening draft lightly ruffled his copper curls. A serene smile graced his features. It occurred to the Dwarf that he never saw him smile like that before, nor had he ever seen him look so at peace.

_It would be quite a sight to see him like that when he is awake … especially when we speak to each other …_

A smile crept to his own lips.

 _Tomorrow,_ he promised himself. _Tomorrow, I shall truly make an effort to get to know Master Baggins. This journey shall be easier for us all if I do make my peace with him. I do believe we can make this work. Thank you, Mahal, for blessing me with my nephews. Their wisdom rang true tonight._

Thorin closed his eyes, the image of Bilbo's peaceful face still in his mind as sleep took him.

* * *

_It is done._

Bifur smiled to himself. It had taken a while for Thorin to actually fall asleep, but the moment he dropped off, the axe-embedded Dwarf carried out his task.

It was a bit difficult – he nearly started when Dwalin stirred in his sleep, only to turn on his side and not waking up as Bifur initially feared – but it was easier than he expected. Much easier, say, in comparison to all the writing he had to do.

_If Bofur thinks I'm not making an effort, I don't know how else to please him._

Sitting back down next to the fire, Bifur emitted a long sigh. The ink stains were proving to be a pain, refusing to wash off his fingers as he doused them with water from his waterskin and scrubbed at them. He would have to ask Ori about it tomorrow morning, if he did not forget.

That, and he was more worried about the reactions he was sure to get.

He looked up, running his gaze over his sleeping companions until it settled on his One. His heart tremored in his chest. What he did was not Dwarvish – just what would his One think of him? Will he be horrified? Sickened? Laugh in his face?

_Or maybe … **maybe** … he shall smile, say something kindly to me … he will see the message I hid in his note …_

Bifur groaned, dropping his face into his hands and shaking his head.

How he joined this quest to reclaim a lost kingdom, only to find his own treasure in the form of his One, he could not fathom.

All he could do was hope and pray that everything would go well tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dôlzekh menu - Thank you.
> 
> Bifur is a blessing, 'nuff said. XD  
> This has got to be my favourite chapter so far, because Thorin is actually starting to get the idea behind his resolution, and because the pairings are now starting to come into play. Let me know what your fave/hate moments - it's lovely getting kudos, but I'd love to see a minimum of 10 comments per chapter because I really want to hear your thoughts. Thanks for your support, my darlings!
> 
> *~AI07~* :)


	5. Day 2: A Little Poetry Never Killed Nobody (And Neither Does An Apology)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dwarves get a surprise when they wake up; Bilbo gets two. Cue the blushing, the badgering and even more befriending attempts ... and a little more blackmail.

_**Day 2** : _ _The second day of Gandalf's resolutions project has commenced, with the incentives system in effect._

_**Morning period** : Well, both Bifur and Thorin have surprised us greatly this morning. I see now what Bifur did with the paper I lent him last night (although Dori's reaction has got me wondering if he'll end up bald by the time this project has come to its end). I swear, though, I'm blushing now after what Bifur did (although Bofur is hardly impressed with his courting efforts, and Nori is miffed because Glóin was so close to breaking his resolution), and even more so when Dwalin spoke to me and smiled at me - **AGAIN**. I mean, it's strange to hear him say something kindly, obviously, but ... I just **can't** ... alright, forget about Dwalin for now. Meanwhile, Thorin has changed his tactics regarding his befriending attempts, and I must say, it looks like it's working. Bilbo didn't run away **once**!_

_\- Ori._

* * *

There were two things that Bilbo did not expect on the very next morning.

One was the surprise that Bifur had left him, as well as some of the Dwarves.

The other … well, _that_ you will know later.

Bilbo's eyes shot open almost instantly when he heard an indignant shout echoing throughout the camp: “Fer the love of Mahal, Bifur! Yer supposed to be courtin' yer One, not flippin' TEN!”

“ _Ma_ _mahùlchâpizu mahnikud, Bofur_ ,” came the husky timbre of a voice accented with Khuzdûl.

A growl that rivalled that of a rabid dog. “Rush stitchin'? That's rich, comin' from you, since ye've got some balls to stick yer BLOODY NEEDLE in ten o' these sods!”

A huff of frustration. “ _Mahizu uh_ _khathuzhur._ "

 _“_ I'd say the same to ye, but ye probably knew that already!”

The Hobbit groaned. _It's going to be one of_ those _mornings, isn't it? I swear in the name of our blessed lady, I haven't woken up like this since Mother accused Father of eating the last slice of her apple-mint pie when I was a fauntling. Woke me up before the cock crowed, her shouting and his pleading. I almost felt sorry for Father, seeing as I ate that slice the night before._

_Guess I'll have to get up now and see what the ruckus is all about._

Judging by the groans that emitted all around him and phrases like “What is that dreadful racket?”, “ _Mahal zai abrâl!_ What are they goin' on about now at this time of the mornin'?” and “Can't even get a proper night's sleep any more with their screeching!” being uttered, his fellow companions had come to the same conclusion.

Tiredly sitting up in his bed-roll with a yawn, Bilbo unconsciously clenched his left hand, nearly giving a start when he heard a crinkling sound coming from it.

 _What in the heavens? … is that_ paper _in my hand?_

He glanced downwards with sleepy eyes, which widened as he unclenched his hand. A rolled-up sheet of paper lay somewhat crumpled in his palm. Carefully, Bilbo unrolled it and, smoothing the crinkled surface, scanned its contents.

 _What_ is _this?_

At first glance, it looked like a page that was taken straight out of Ori's journal – whilst the texture and appearance of the page supported the idea that it had indeed come from that book, it was the handwriting that was different. Ori had a flowing, graceful style to his writing, and he tended to fill up the entire page with Cirth letters, a type of writing system adapted for the Khuzdûl language. Often accompanying his writings would be a little doodle or a whole page dedicated to his excellent artwork.

The difference here, however, was that the Cirth letters had a rough, shaky edge to them, as if the writer was in a hurry or was struggling to find the right words. And, instead of an entire page of Cirth characters with a doodle, only ten lines were written on it with a smudged ink stain in the corner.

_I wonder what it says? And if it's not Ori who wrote it, who did? And why?_

The exasperated sound of Bombur's voice interrupted Bilbo's thoughts:

“Can ye two just be quiet? I can't concentrate on makin' this breakfast with ye two bickerin' so like a couple o' kiddies,” he heard the big Dwarf complain.

Bilbo looked up from the page. Standing at the cooking pot were the brothers Ur and their cousin, although Bofur looked quite cross, to say the least. He stood before Bifur with his mitten-covered hands on his hips, scowling for all the world to see. Like his behatted cousin, Bifur also looked cross. He wore a most defiant expression on his face and his arms were crossed over his chest. Respectively, they looked reminiscent of a displeased parent and a disobedient child getting a telling-off. Meanwhile, Bombur was waving around a spoon ( _rather **that** than his soup ladle_ ) in his hand, red in the face as he chastised-cum-pleaded with them.

_Goodness, they remind me so much of Lobelia, Otho and Iris Bumbleroot when they attended Falco and Pearl Hamwich's soirée to celebrate the summer solstice. Lobelia had such a terrible tantrum when Iris turned up in the exact same outfit and demanded her to change into something else or go home. Poor Otho had his hands full trying to keep the ladies from physically attacking each other._

“– and anyway, it's too early in the mornin' for arguin' an' all,” Bombur was saying, shaking his head at the two older Dwarves. “My goodness gracious, yer worse than my twelve bairns put together. Shame on ye if they were to ever see ye two like this!”

Bofur turned to glare at his brother. “It's not my fault that Bifur's bein' a smart-arsed git.”

Bifur's eyes flashed with anger. “ _M_ _âl atkâtel!_ ” he barked at the hat-wearing Dwarf.

“What are you two arguing about, if I may ask?”

Thorin Oakenshield had suddenly appeared at Bofur's side, looking tired and irritated at the same time as he asked that question.

“And believe me, you better have a good answer,” the dark-haired Dwarf added in a low growl. “I speak for the rest of us when I say that we could have done with an extra half-hour's worth of sleep, which was unfortunately interrupted by the noise you lot are making.”

Bofur made an exasperated sound. “It's Bifur and this whole courtin' business. Told him he ought to get a move on with it, but I dare say he's goin' about it the wrong way!”

“ _If you want me to court my One, then I can do it however which way I please_ ,” signed Bifur in Iglishmêk, again looking defiant.

Thorin sighed. “And what exactly did you do to draw your cousin's ire, Bifur?”

To Bilbo's surprise, the axe-embedded Dwarf blushed.

“ _I wrote some poems_ ,” he signed, looking down at his feet.

Thorin raised a bemused eyebrow. “Poems?”

“Aye, and _love_ poems at that!” cried Bofur, glaring at his cousin, who was blushing beetroot-red.

Bilbo's mouth dropped open in astonishment.

_**Bifur**? Writing **love** poems? _

_Has the world well and truly gone mad?_

_And yet … that sounds incredibly sweet of Bifur. If he can apply the same amount of detail to his writing like he does to his toy-making, then I'm sure he will have his One putty in his hands._

Thorin frowned at the hat-wearing Dwarf. “I don't see anything wrong with that approach, even if it's a bit … _unusual_ for a Dwarf to do during the courting process.”

Bifur's red skin turned darker.

“Aye, nothin' wrong at all with that kind o' technique,” agreed Bofur, his voice, tinged with blatant sarcasm, beginning to rise, “'cept my cousin, in all his wisdom, decided to use that technique on _ten people here!_ ”

Suddenly, Bilbo felt his stomach drop.

 _He did_ not _… he_ couldn't _have …_

With a gulp, the Hobbit's eyes fell back down on the piece of paper in his hands.

He gulped again as the realisation sunk in.

 _Bifur has written me_ _a love poem._

 _Bifur …_ me _… love poem …_

 _Could_ _**I** _ _be his One …?!_

Upon this revelation, Bilbo honestly did not know how to feel at that moment … actually, he was feeling a multitude of emotions. _Surprise? Check. Shock? Oh, most definitely. Flabbergasted, But of course. Bewildered? So much so that I'm starting to use complex synonyms for “flabbergasted”!_

 _But how else can I feel? I'm one of the ten recipients who have gotten a love poem from Bifur –_ I _could very well be his One! Is that why he was acting strangely around me yesterday, so evasive and distant?_

_Does he have feelings for me …?_

Bilbo stared at the Cirth letters and gulped for the third time that morning.

_Take me now, Yavanna._

Judging by the dumbfounded look on Thorin's face, it seemed that he was feeling the exact same way as the Hobbit. The dark-haired Dwarf's frown deepened.

“ _Ten_ people?” he said in utter disbelief.

Bofur nodded firmly. “That's right. _Ten_ people, upon my long-sufferin' soul – nine Dwarves _and_ the Halfling! The only chops who didn't get one from my terrible tart of a cousin –”

(If it was not for Bombur standing there with that pleading expression, Bifur would have throttled Bofur on the spot without an ounce of remorse – he absolutely _hated_ being called a “tart”, especially by his cousin, who called him that often. The hat-wearing Dwarf nearly died young a long time ago when he dared to call the older Dwarf a “tart” in front of a fetching barmaid at the local tavern.)

“– are Gandalf, 'cause his name doesn't contain the letter “i”, and Glóin, who's already married an' all. Not that I would let Bifur court a bloody Wizard, or Glóin with his awful temper, mind ye.”

Slowly, Thorin turned his attention to Bifur. His frown was deeper than deep at this point in time.

“How did you carry this business out?” he asked.

“ _Borrowed paper from Ori and wrote them all down whilst I was on first watch,_ ” the axe-embedded Dwarf signed in response. “ _Waited for everyone to fall asleep before I placed them in their bed-rolls._ ”

To Bilbo's eyes, Thorin's frown looked like a misshapen, upside-down crescent moon.

“Bifur,” he said slowly. “Nine Dwarves … I assume that _I'm_ included, correct?”

Bifur's black locks hid the rosiness that crept to his cheeks.

“ _Check your left pocket_ ,” was all he could sign.

Either Bilbo was imagining things, or Thorin's own cheeks were now glowing red. But before the dark-haired Dwarf could reach into his coat pocket to investigate, yells suddenly filled the air:

“What the bloomin' 'ell is THIS?!”

“Am I _readin'_ this right?!”

“My, oh my!”

“Am I blushin'? I think I'm blushin'!”

“What does your one say? Come on, let's have a look!”

“Goodness, did you see what _this_ line says?”

“Mahal alive, I certainly didn't expect this!”

Bilbo looked away from the Dwarves standing at the cooking pot, his eyes falling upon the rest of his Dwarvish companions, who were now wide awake and sitting up in their bed-rolls. They, save for Glóin (who was trying in vain to look over Óin's shoulder, without much success), were looking down at the similar-looking pieces of paper – also inscribed with ten lines of Cirth letters – that they were holding in their hands with astonished expressions on their faces. In some cases such as Ori and Dori, their skins had attained a dark crimson colour. Fíli and Kíli had exchanged their poems, reading over Bifur's handiwork and muttering words in Khuzdûl under their breath.

However, their obvious surprise – as well as everybody else's – aroused the Hobbit's curiosity, and it irked him considerably.

 _Now I_ really _want to know what my poem says!_

_Perhaps I can get the general idea of it if I ask the Dwarves about theirs._

The Dwarf that sat nearest to Bilbo was Nori. The star-shaped-haired Dwarf was staring at his poem, his fox-like eyes wide in amazement and his eyebrows raised so high to the point that they could be mistaken for extra braids in his auburn hair.

“What does your poem say, Nori?” the Hobbit asked.

Nori looked up, his mouth set in a firm line.

“I don't know what t'make of it, Master Baggins,” he replied, shaking his head. “Either Bifur is playin' a cruel trick on me, righ', or the bloody bugger is tryin' t'get me into 'is bed.”

The thief pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“And I don't know if it's because I'm still tired or if I've gone mad, but I dare say I might just take 'im up on the offer.”

Bilbo raised his eyebrows. Whilst he (privately) did not doubt that Nori would just about do almost anyone or anything with a pulse, he was dubious that the star-shaped-haired Dwarf would begin a romance with Bifur. Why, he was sure that Bombur confided him earlier in the quest that Bifur was not at all fond of the thief, given his reputation as a … well, a _thief_ , of course.

“We may not come from a well-off family, Master Baggins, but we have standards, so says our Bifur,” Bombur had told him. “Bifur reckons that a crook like Nori – oh aye, Master Baggins, he used the word “crook!” – ain't somebody that ye should hang about with. He thinks he's a bad influence, and he doesn't want Bofur to be influenced by the likes of him.

“Of course,” he continued, “our Bofur always had a penchant for gettin' on our cousin's nerves since he was a lad, so it's only natural that he goes against Bifur's wishes. Our Bifur nearly blew his stack after Bofur took up with Nori – I can tell ye right now that he would lop off both their heads if he were given the chance.”

So yes, Bifur and Nori were hardly friends, and there was _certainly_ not enough amity between the two that could lead to a romantic relationship.

_Perhaps a fight to the death, but never a romance._

Still, if a love poem written by the axe-embedded Dwarf was enough to get Nori to consider initiating a tryst of sorts ( _and at this time of the morning, too!_ ) …

“What exactly did he write?” he asked impatiently.

“'Ere, I'll read it to you,” Nori said, clearing his throat. “I warn you, though, it's real mushy stuff.”

The star-shaped-haired Dwarf began to read:

 _My hands tremble when you draw near me_  
_And my eyes glow when it is you that I see._  
_How, oh how, can I describe this feeling?_  
_Aule knows the pain that lies in my heart,  
_ _Lingering there 'til it tears me apart._

 _Never have I felt a feeling so strong;_  
_Ever this emotion has been lying long._  
_Veraciously, it has left me reeling._  
_Ere I lose myself in my pondering,  
_ _Remember that I keep my true One in my wondering._

A short pause.

“Now what d'you make of that, Master Baggins?” Nori inquired as he looked up, his cheeks tinged with pink.

Unsurprisingly, Bilbo appeared shocked ( _again_ ). His mouth hung open like a stove lid and, if one was to peer any closer, his cheeks had also attained a rosy hue.

“Well?”

“My goodness gracious me,” the Hobbit spluttered, amazement all too evident in his voice. “Bifur wrote _that_?”

The star-shaped-haired Dwarf nodded, tugging nervously at a braid. “Righto, mate. Who knew ol' Axe-'ead 'ad it in 'im? Total tosh, am I righ'?”

“But … it sounds _lovely_.”

Nori stared at him. “Yer kiddin' me.”

“No, really, it _is_ ,” insisted Bilbo. “Granted, it's a little cryptic for my taste, but I think it sounds lovely and very endearing, Nori, especially when it's coming from a gentle soul like Bifur.”

“The bloody day Bifur becomes gentle wiv me, is when 'e puts the mockers on givin' me the side-eye,” retorted Nori with a shudder.

“All I'm sayin',” Bofur's voice cut in, once again drawing Bilbo's attention to the behatted Dwarf standing at the cooking pot as he addressed Thorin, “is that I specifically told my cousin to start courtin' his One however which way he wants – and by “One”, I meant _one_ person. Now the tricky sod has gone an' written poems to _ten_ people, which, I think, is unfair 'cause we don't know who the bloody hell he's courtin'!”

“Technically, Mister Bofur, Bifur _is_ courting someone,” Ori piped up, which startled Bilbo ( _I'm_ _ **still**_ _not used to this new, less-quiet personality of his_ ). “As long as he's courting someone – even if it means starting the courting process in _this_ particularly unusual way – then he's not doing anything wrong.”

“Hmm, that actually makes a great deal of sense, if you think about it.”

It was Gandalf who had spoken. The Wizard stood beside his bed-roll, stretching his limbs and rolling his neck.

“It's exactly as it sounds, fellows,” he continued casually, placing his pointed hat on his head. “There's no rush for Bifur to reveal his One any time soon. So long as he's begun the courting process with the, ahem, Dwarf of his choice, then he can do whatever he likes.”

“ _That's what I've been saying!_ ” signed Bifur triumphantly, grinning at his fuming cousin.

“Quite clever of Ori to have raised that valid point,” said Dwalin, smiling in the young scribe's direction. “Wouldn't you say so, Balin?”

“Oh aye, it was _very_ clever, indeed!” proclaimed Balin, nodding enthusiastically. “Smart lads, my apprentices have to be.”

Ori seemingly did not hear Balin. Instead, he was looking at the white-haired Dwarf's younger, tattooed brother. A bashful expression graced the scribe's features. His face was so red that his freckles stood out from his skin.

“That's very kind of you to say, Mister Dwalin,” he murmured.

Dwalin shrugged, though he was still smiling. “Not a problem, Ori. I was just pointin' out the obvious.”

Ori quickly turned away before anyone, save for an observant Bilbo, could see the wild flush deepen even more ( _at this rate, we'll_ all _end up looking like a ton of tomatoes_ ). The blatant glare that Dori sent in Dwalin's direction did not go unnoticed by the Hobbit at all, nor did the smirks exchanged between Fíli and Kíli.

_This strange behaviour of everyone is still unbelievable – I mean, I simply can't understand why Bofur is impatient about Bifur and this whole courting drama, and Gandalf is hardly helping matters, damn his cryptic act. Besides, we'll find out in time who Bifur's One is. But I do believe there's something even stranger going on regarding the behaviours of Ori and Dwalin. What's happening there, I wonder …?_

“Well, that's the end of that, then,” said Thorin, turning back to Bifur and Bofur. “There's no need to fuss over this matter any more. We can get on with our lives without needless drama.”

Bifur bowed his head in respect, whilst Bofur looked ready to hit somebody.

“Don't think this is over yet, dear cousin,” he hissed under his breath to the axe-embedded Dwarf before turning his attention back to the preparation of the breakfast.

Bifur merely chortled silently before walking away to take a seat under a tree. Like the previous morning, he worked on a toy until breakfast-time arrived, though he lifted his head up every few seconds to observe the actions (and reactions) of his companions as they read out their respective poems to Bilbo.

Oh yes, Bilbo – who was still very curious about what Bifur wrote for everyone, yet desperately wanting to know what _his_ own poem said – had gotten up from his bed-roll and approached the nine other lucky recipients to hear them read out their verses. He was also hoping to have one of them translate his poem. However, as he listened to the others reciting their respective pieces, the Hobbit got a little caught up in their readings to the point that he would forget to make his request known.

The first Dwarf he approached was Balin, who gladly read his poem out loud with fervid ( _and positively unnerving!_ ) optimism:

 _Dying inside to hold you close,_  
_O'er Dwarvish pride, of you I would boast,_  
_Revelling in the love that you would show me._  
_I would never think to let you go  
_ _Nor would I hesitate to let you know:_

 _Ever more I want you near,_  
_Ever more I need you to hear,_  
_Dearest heart, that I need you to be_  
_Surrounding me with your endless love  
_ _Until my strength o'er weakness will prove._

Although Bilbo was hesitant to approach him, Dwalin was surprisingly obliging to share his poem with the Hobbit ( _then again, he's not his usual gruff self, lest I forget_ ).

“After all, I'm pretty sure that Bifur is hardly interested in me in the romantic sense,” the tall Dwarf said, although the somewhat worried look in his eyes betrayed the confidence he was trying hard to project:

 _In this blessed world of ours,_  
_Keep in mind that I could be yours._  
_Never minding what others may think_  
_Or what they might have to say,  
_ _We will keep on striving, come what may._

 _Undaunted in this budding passion,_  
_Loving you in such a surreptitious fashion,_  
_Understand that we share a close link._  
_Victorious, you and I shall emerge  
_ _O'er our naysayers purged._

Dori reminded Bilbo very strongly of his aunt Donnamira before and after reading his poem. Whilst his mother Belladonna, Yavanna bless her soul, was dark and impish, Donnamirra was fair and radiant in contrast, and her luxuriant copper curls had an almost golden shine to them. However, Donnamirra had a tendency to whip out her hair-brush and brush her hair whenever she felt anxious.

One morning during a visit, Bilbo found his aunt in her bedroom, sitting on the edge of her bed and wearing a frilly white night-gown. She was shakily brushing her hair with a bone-handle hair-brush, and she had a demented look on her face. Her young nephew bolted before she registered his presence. To this day, he never knew what was causing his aunt such anxiety that morning.

But on this morning, picking at loose strands of his silver hair with shaky fingers, Dori was (almost) Donnamirra personified. The Dwarrow did this as he read his poem out:

 _Before on this quest we take,_  
_All my life my heart doth ache._  
_Love indeed is a funny thing:_  
_It comes and goes, relentless and pure.  
_ _Now in this moment, I must to you adjure._

 _Yield yourself to this incredible feeling_  
_Or in regret you will find yourself reeling_  
_Unrestrained, so you will need distracting._  
_Revel in the love you are shown;  
_ _See beyond what you had already known._

“It's so _bloody_ cryptical,” Dori whispered, his silver hair twirled tightly around his fingers. “It does me nerves no good, especially those first two lines in the second verse. “Regret”? Whatever does he mean by _that_?”

For the life of him, Bilbo could not say. Instead, he lent him his hair-brush.

When the Hobbit asked a blushing Ori to read him his poem, Dori nearly pulled out his hair altogether. The eldest Ri hardly looked inconspicuous as he leaned over the burglar's shoulder to hear his brother's verse:

 _Sweet as the dew on an orchard bloom,_  
_Obliging and quiet, one would rightfully assume._  
_Repressed, however, no longer describes you._  
_Rapt you have me, wondering you have got me,  
_ _You are certainly a sight to see._

 _Aflame, my heart beats strongly for you;_  
_It all seems very sudden and new,_  
_Now I know it to be true._  
_Trite though this poem may be,  
_ _Utmost love do I have for thee._

“Mystifying, but he's definitely right about you being sweet, Ori,” remarked Bilbo, and the scribe's red complexion glowed even more.

“Mahal forbid … Mahal forbid,” Dori muttered under his breath, brushing his hair ferociously.

The poems were suddenly getting more and more bizarre in its cryptic manner. Fíli stared dumbfounded at his poem, trying in vain to make sense of the words before him.

“I honestly don't know what to make of it, Master Baggins,” he said, scratching his head. “It's all rather confusing.”

It certainly was:

 _Fair is thy frame, full-blooded is your heart,_  
_Infinite was my fondness from the very start._  
_Lovelorn, I have been forever._  
_In all my days I never knew  
_ _Just how good this feels when I see you._

 _Unsettled in this wild rush,_  
_Some things silent now refuse to be hushed._  
_This will be my last endeavour:_  
_Nought do I bear you any abhorrence  
_ _Or ill will nor anything but tolerance._

So was Kíli's:

 _Urbane, untiring and unworldly you may seem,_  
_Kittenish in your ways, a peculiar dream;_  
_I have never met someone quite like you._  
_Loveless I have been throughout my life,  
_ _I know now – I have seen the light._

 _Luminous, the answer glows bright;_  
_Mahal knows just what is right._  
_Finally, I know what I must do:_  
_Always and forever, my One has my heart and soul,  
_ _Only he, over those, has total control._

“I don't even know what _half_ of these words mean!” the dark-haired prince whined. “It's as if Ori wrote this stuff, and that's saying something!”

The only poem left to hear, apart from the one written for Thorin ( _I have no intention to ask him what_ _**he** _ _got, not after what happened yesterday_ ), was Óin's. The healer sat in his bed-roll, silently reading over his poem; his expression was unreadable. The only movement that came from him was when he turned his upper body ever so slightly away from Glóin, who was still peeking over his shoulder (trying, but failing miserably) to have a look.

“C'mon, _nadad_ , let me see what it says!” he complained.

Now Bilbo half-expected Óin to tell his younger brother to (ahem) “bugger off”, or something along those lines, and for Glóin to lose his temper in response. The fiery-haired Dwarf had such a short fuse, and his deaf, older brother was never exempt from his wrath. Likewise, Óin never tolerated Glóin's bad temper if _he_ happened to be the reason behind the aforementioned temper being provoked in the first place.

But at this moment, Óin said nothing and stolidly ignored his brother's complaining. He just kept his eyes on his poem.

And Glóin, after receiving no sign of acknowledgement, sighed loudly and turned away.

“I give up,” he grumbled to himself, marching off to join Bofur and Bombur. Bilbo saw him send a particularly vicious glare in Bifur's direction, as if to blame the axe-embedded Dwarf for his brother's silent treatment (all the while, Nori looked disappointed, and he murmured something about “next time, 'e'll crack” under his breath).

_Well, I guess that means Glóin won't translate this poem for me._

Óin was ruled out, too. _If he's going to give me the I-can't-help-you-because-I'm-deaf-but-also-have-selective-hearing treatment as well, then there's no point in approaching him, either._

 _Oh bother, now I'm_ really _in a fix, aren't I? I can't ask Bifur for help. Heaven help me, I'm too embarrassed to approach him and too shy to ask him to explain the meaning behind his mystifying words. Besides that, it'll be painstaking to translate my poem into Iglishmêk._

Bilbo looked down at his sheet with a sigh.

 _The others … they're so baffled by their_ own _poems, that they'll have no time to look at mine._ _Bofur's in a foul mood, and Bombur is making himself miserable by not eating his usual pre-breakfast snack._ _As for Gandalf, he'd make me stew in my own curiosity, darn his cold, black and wicked heart –_

“A penny for your thoughts, Master Baggins?”

The Hobbit looked up, and was most surprised to meet a familiar pair of ice-blue eyes.

Bilbo could not contain the groan that escaped past his lips.

 _Oh lawks, not_ _**this** _ _again!_

For here was Thorin Oakenshield, standing before him with an indecipherable look gracing his visage. His arms were crossed, and his head was cocked to the side as he stared at the smaller being, waiting for an answer.

This, dear readers, was the second unexpected thing of the morning.

“Are you not going to answer me?” Thorin finally asked after several seconds of silence.

“Please, Thorin, I'm not looking to cause any trouble today,” said Bilbo in a tired tone, holding his hands up in a defensive manner as he tried to edge his way past the dark-haired Dwarf …

… only for one of Thorin's hands to press against his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

“ _Oof!_ ” uttered Bilbo, the wind nearly being knocked out of him. He looked up at Thorin with a glare.

“Was that necessary?” he half-asked, half-barked, prising the hand off his chest none-too-gently.

Thorin blinked.

“If I said I wanted to apologise, you would have walked away, hence the force,” he replied.

“Well, you could have warned me beforehand, because I nearly _suffocated_ from – _say what now?_ ”

Here, Bilbo's ears perked up – his attention had been grabbed by the Dwarf's unexpected words:

_If I said I wanted to apologise, you would have walked away …_

“Did _you_ … just … say …?” the Hobbit's voice trailed off, leaving the sentence incomplete.

Sheepishly, Thorin glanced down at his boots, his cheeks flushing ( _why? Why are they doing that?_ ) before he glanced back up at the burglar and replied.

“Aye, Master Baggins. I want to apologise. You know, for what happened yesterday. And for nearly suffocating you, if you like.”

Bilbo gaped at him.

“ _You_ , Thorin Oakenshield, want to apologise to _me_?” he squeaked.

“Does it bear repeating?” said Thorin, raising an impatient eyebrow.

He slowed his pace, his words accompanied by gestures: “ _I_ ”(pointing to himself) “want” (pointing to his chest) “to apologise” (placing his hands together) “to you" (pointing at Bilbo). "There now, you got it?”

His non-Dwarvish companion frowned.

“Was that the apology, or was that the statement being said back to me as if I were a mere child?” he snarked.

Thorin's eyes narrowed, but he refrained from saying a word lest he said something he would come to regret later.

Bilbo continued, placing his hands on his hips as he regarded the dark-haired Dwarf with narrowed eyes of his own.

“Did Gandalf tell you to apologise to me?” he asked outright.

“No,” Thorin answered, his mouth twitching.

“Fíli? Kíli? Both of them?”

“No.”

“Balin?”

“Master Baggins, I'm apologising to you out of my own volition,” said Thorin wearily.

“So was that a yes or a no?”

“Master Baggins, _please_ ,” the Dwarf started, reaching out to put a hand on Bilbo's shoulder; he frowned when he felt the Hobbit flinch beneath his touch.

“Master Baggins … _Bilbo_ ,” he said, glad to see that the burglar's attention was now on him ( _what do you know? I ought to say “Bilbo” more often_ ). “Look, yesterday I was … I _acted_ like … an _ass_.”

“A rather _huge_ ass, I might add,” murmured Bilbo, his lips curling into a smirk.

Thorin rolled his eyes, but he nodded. “Yes, a huge ass, if you like. From the back-slapping to losing my temper with you … I admit it, I was acting rather foolishly. It wasn't exactly the best way to start our … relationship anew …”

He trailed off, not at all surprised at Bilbo's next words that fell upon him with the sharpness of daggers:

“To be honest, Thorin, it's not like we _had_ a relationship in the first place,” the Hobbit murmured, guiltily looking down at his fuzzy feet.

Without thinking about it (only later he wondered why he did it), Thorin gently pushed Bilbo's chin upwards so that his ice-blue orbs met that of the Hobbit's, which widened as they gazed directly at each other. His apple-like cheeks suddenly attained a rosy hue, enhancing the copper colour of his curls and the sparkle that his eyes held …

Awkwardly releasing his chin, Thorin cleared his throat before speaking:

“Bilbo, I am sorry for my poor behaviour. If I have caused you offence in any way, then I humbly beg for your forgiveness. I promise that I will do my best to make it up to you, namely through trying to spend more time in your company. I regret that I know nothing about you, and I feel it is only right that I ought to get to know you better if our relations are to be improved.”

The Hobbit digested this apology without a word. He dipped his head in thought, pondering deeply over Thorin's words for a minute or so. The Dwarf, meanwhile, gazed upon him, waiting patiently for a response.

 _Please forgive me, Bilbo. Please accept my apology._ _**Please** _ _…_

Finally, Bilbo straightened up, looking Thorin dead in the eye.

“Thorin Oakenshield, I shall accept your apology, _but_ only on one condition. Well, a two-in-one condition, actually.”

The Dwarf's eyebrows arched.

“Condition? What condition?”

In the blink of an eye, Bilbo's mouth transformed into a smile, similar to the one that Thorin had seen the night before. He lifted his hand, holding a sheet of paper.

“I'll accept your apology,” he said, “if you translate Bifur's poem for me. Also, I would like to hear his poem to _you_ , too.”

Thorin grimaced. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. Curiosity is a killer, wouldn't you say?”

“You wouldn't want to hear mine,” the Dwarf tried to argue, wanting to avoid any embarrassment that would most likely arise from reading his poem aloud to the Hobbit. “Mahal knows, I haven't even read it yet.”

“I think it's only fair that I hear yours,” Bilbo said with an air of finality. “After all, you'll be reading mine. Eye for an eye, that sort of thing, you know.”

“Master Baggins …” growled an exasperated Thorin.

Bilbo raised an unimpressed eyebrow. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Do you want me to accept your apology or not?” he asked, his mouth set in a miniature pout.

Thorin stared at him in silence for a few seconds – taking in the impish face and the little pout – before letting out a frustrated growl.

“I'm going to regret this …” 

* * *

“So, um, what does it say, then?”

Thorin did not answer Bilbo immediately. He ran his ice-blue eyes over the last two lines one more time – all the while ignoring the amazed stares of his companions and the cheese-eating grins of his sister-sons that they sent his way – before he deigned to reply.

“Quite a bit,” the dark-haired Dwarf answered, lowering the page at last. “By the looks of things, Bifur sounds very keen on you.”

“Oh my happy hat,” murmured Bilbo, running an anxious hand through his hair.

“Then again, it sounds like he's keen on everyone else, including you and me,” Thorin quickly reassured him. “Of course, he could be using us as decoys to keep the identity of his One hidden for now, especially from Bofur.”

“Frankly, I don't see why he has to rush this courting business,” the Hobbit remarked candidly, pulling on a curl. “It's driving me crazy, to say the least.”

 _You and me both, Master Baggins_ , Thorin thought, wondering how Gandalf willingly let Bofur blackmail his axe-embedded cousin.

“So … what did he write?” Bilbo's voice interrupted his thoughts. “I'm _dying_ to know.”

“I suppose you want _me_ to read it out loud,” replied Thorin, his tone dry.

“Yes, please. See, you're starting to know me already!”

Rolling his eyes and muttering something inaudible about the burglar's cheekiness, Thorin cleared his throat and began to read the Hobbit's verse:

 _Idle, shiftless, there is many a name for_  
_Something like “restless”, and indeed many more;_  
_Here as I write this, I feel this way._  
_I never knew it would come to this,  
Pursuing you through poetry, a most daring risk._

 _Ultimately, it is your heart I hope to gain,_  
_With deep desire and attempts not vain,_  
_To be in your warm arms lay …_  
_Oh, what a delight it would be,  
Side-by-side together, just you and me._

“Master Baggins, you're blushing.”

“Am I?” stammered Bilbo, turning his hot, plum-red face downwards; he began to fan himself in a bid to get rid of his bluster. “Goodness gracious me, I'm certainly hot under the collar after hearing _that_. Phew!”

Thorin pulled a face. “I didn't need to hear that.”

“Don't get any wrong ideas,” his companion said hurriedly, glowing brighter than bright. “I'm just … it's because it … well, because I … confound Bifur for writing it, but … _my, oh my!_ ” was all he managed to get out before emitting a fed-up groan.

An awkward pause.

Thorin nervously tucked a strand of dark hair behind his ear. “Mm, yes, it was quite … to the point.”

“Mm, it was,” Bilbo agreed, nodding vigorously.

“ _Mm_.”

“Mm.”

Another pause.

Bilbo coughed. “Alright. Read me yours, Thorin, if you please.”

“ _Damn it_ , Master Baggins …” cursed his Dwarvish companion, covering his face with his hands.

“What, you thought I would forget?” Bilbo chuckled, his flush still lingering. “Come now, Thorin, you _must_ fulfil the other half of the condition. Do you not want my total forgiveness?”

Thorin glared with all his might at the Hobbit, who merely smirked back.

“If you continue at this rate,” the Dwarf said darkly, “you'll end up apologising to _me_! You and your cheekiness, I swear …”

Before Bilbo could say another word, Thorin held up his own poem and – with an inconspicuous gulp – proceeded to read it, letting the words sink in:

 _Unrivalled are you in strength and resplendence,_  
_Lyrical is thy voice with a warm cadence._  
_Icy though you may appear to be,_  
_Kindled are the chambers of your core.  
Enthralling to behold, I can no longer ignore._

 _Breathless you make me, sometimes flushed as well,_  
_I tremble when I o'er my love for you dwell._  
_Love can be restrictive yet also set one free,_  
_But now, my One, I am unbound:  
Outpouring, alive, my love has been found._

“Oh my!” cried Bilbo again, clamping his hands over his red-hot cheeks. He began to ramble. “I honestly don't know what to think about this any more. I swear on my father's grave, I can't believe Bifur wrote that. Ooh, my nerves …!”

“Never mind _your_ nerves! How do you think _I_ feel after reading that?” barked Thorin. His fair complexion had become ruddy all of a sudden, and he could swear that his ears would explode from the loud volume of his heart that was racing at an incredible speed. ““Lyrical”? “Breathless”? Mahal, _kyf_ …?"

Bilbo just shook his head, rubbing his eyes as he did so. “It's as Kíli said: it's as if Ori wrote this stuff. I'm jolly well flabbergasted that Bifur wrote these poems, but in a way, I think it's brave of him. I can only hope that his courting methods will pay off in the end.”

“The way Bofur is going on about it, we can only hope,” Thorin murmured, putting his poem back into his pocket, too embarrassed to look at it again.

He looked at the Hobbit. “So, after all that, am I forgiven _now_?”

Bilbo shrugged. “I suppose you are.”

Thorin gently touched his shoulder again, a serious expression gracing his features.

“Bilbo, I want you to know that I was serious about wanting to getting to know you,” he whispered, “and I'm willing to try my best this time around to be civil.”

“I understand _that_ , Thorin,” replied Bilbo with a nod, although he was frowning. “But _why_ is it that you are doing this now? Who or what changed your mind about me?”

The dark-haired Dwarf hesitated before giving him an answer.

“Like I said before, I would like our relations to be improved. Our journey together won't be a bit comfortable if we continue to act like strangers around each other.”

 _Not quite THE real answer, but a decent answer nonetheless,_ he inwardly thought. He did not want the Hobbit to find out about Gandalf's little project.

_Not yet._

Bilbo sighed. “Well, I guess you have a point. You could definitely do better than yesterday.”

“Not without your help,” Thorin retorted. “It is a team effort, not a one-Dwarf operation. Allow me to know you, and vice-versa.”

“Yes, yes, fine,” the company burglar said, waving his hand dismissively. “I'll do my part, too. Only to make this, uh, _relationship_ , work, and anything to get my mind off the others' strange behaviours, Yavanna have mercy on me …”

“Good,” the Dwarf's mouth curved into a rare smile.

Before Bilbo knew it, Thorin took a step back and ( _oh my word, did he really?_ ) bowed.

“Thorin Oakenshield, at your service,” he said, looking up at the Hobbit with his softening, ice-blue eyes.

Bilbo stared at him before, a smile appearing on his face, he offered a bow of his own.

“And Bilbo Baggins, at yours,” he replied softly in kind.

They both straightened their postures, smiling shyly at each other.

“Oh, and I already had forgiven you,” Bilbo added. “Straight after you asked me, I did.”

Thorin's smile quickly evaporated.

“Then why did you make me read my poem to you?” he asked.

Bilbo gave him an innocent look. “If I had asked you to read yours to me, you would have walked away, hence the guilt-trip,” he replied airily.

Thorin gaped at him, dumbfounded as the familiar words sunk in. Then, he shook his head.

“Cheeky, bloody burglar,” he muttered to himself. “I _knew_ I was going to regret this …”

The Hobbit merely grinned before he began to make his way to the others, who sat waiting for him and their leader before digging into their breakfast. Thorin followed suit, still muttering about Bilbo's impertinence. He ignored Gandalf and his companions' respective amused and mystified gazes and, after accepting a bowl of porridge from a nettled-looking Bofur, sat down next to the Hobbit, who cheerfully remarked:

“And no back-slapping, please.”

“I'm tempted,” came the tart reply.

Bifur, who sat on Bilbo's left, snorted. The Hobbit turned to him, his apple-like cheeks attaining a pink tinge.

“Thank you very much for the poem, Bifur,” he said politely. “It was lovely, and I'm sure the others would agree.”

(“Oh gawd, do we ever,” muttered Nori darkly to himself, still sore that he missed out on an opportunity to gain a few coins because a certain red-haired Dwarf did not break his resolution.)

The axe-embedded Dwarf smiled warmly at Bilbo before he affectionately ruffled the smaller creature's curls and turned his attention back to his porridge.

 _But I wonder,_ thought Bilbo as he smoothed his hair, _what Óin's poem said. He looked awfully preoccupied by it earlier. I dare say he still looks haunted by it – he's hardly eating a bite of his porridge._

_I hope he's okay._

* * *

_What does it mean?_

_What is he tryin' to say?_

It took all of his willpower to ignore the constant whining and pleading of his brother, and even more so to refrain from cussing the lad out for invading his personal space. Thankfully, Mahal took mercy on him, for Glóin finally gave up and left him in peace.

Well, not quite peace.

The poem was cryptic in its contents, and truthfully, it riled Óin up. He never knew Bifur to be poetic – then again, there was a lot more to Bifur than the healer realised; they only recently befriended each other after the quest began.

But now, this poem …

It certainly changed things, like the dynamics of their friendship, for one thing.

_It could be false, this poem. I could be a front for his real One, like the others are …_

… _but what if I_ am _his One?_

_And if I am, why couldn't he just tell me, instead of givin' me this … this … bloody puzzle?_

Óin knew there was no good in tearing himself to pieces over his mystifying poem. After all, the others were just as confused about theirs. It probably did not mean a thing.

_But still …_

The healer was frustrated to the point that he forgot about his porridge that he held in his hands. No, all he could think of – and tried to decipher for any hidden clues, to no avail – was Bifur's poem to him:

 _Many a time I wished I could admit_  
_You are the one who has my heart lit._  
_Oh, if only I had the courage to say!_  
_No one but you has me still and silent,  
_ _Ever more mute when came the moment …_

 _In writing this my fondness impart,_  
_Save me a place in your heart._  
_Yearningly, I await the day,_  
_On which we two shall meet  
_ _Unbounded by love, will you hear me speak._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ma mahùlchâpizu mahnikud - You can't rush stitching.  
> Mahizu uh khathuzhur - You drive me crazy.  
> Mahal zai abrâl! - Mahal on a cracker!  
> Mâl atkâtel! - Hold your tongue!  
> Nadad - Brother.  
> Kyf? - Why?
> 
> Compliments of the season, folks! :D I hope you all made your own resolutions, heh heh ...  
> Shakespeare ain't got nothing on Bifur, bless him. XD If I were you guys, I'd be giving those poems the side-eye if you want to make sense of what he's trying to say *nudge-nudge, wink-wink*.
> 
> I saw BOTFA on Saturday ... NOPE. NO. I refuse to accept it. I will not accept it. I can't accept it. It is unacceptable. I knew what was going to happen because of the book, but darn it, I was so sad after that! T_T Not only that, I was a bit put out because the Dwarves didn't get huge parts *huggles them*. Never mind, they're the stars in my mind! :3
> 
> And yes, the 95-chapter challenge has commenced! Kudos are welcome, but comments are even better, 'cause I want to hear your thoughts, and I love talking to you all (and you'll probably be wondering to yourself now, "What the heck Bifur did just write?"). Hope you'll enjoy the ride with me! Oh, and "A Babysitter's Dozen" Chapter 3 shall be on its merry way!
> 
> *~AI07~* :)


	6. Day 2: Temptations And Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Temptations arise when the Company arrive at a river to bathe ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Naked Dwarves. I'm sorry / you're welcome.

_**Day** **2** : Continued. _

_**Afternoon period** : A hot day, to be sure (if Dori had his way, he would have told me to roll up my sleeves and keep drinking water every five minutes … then again, if he had his way, he would have **killed** me after what I did to Fíli and Kíli). Bathing in the river was a welcome respite from the heat, but even then, there was tension in the air (or should I say temptation? Again, Dori had **murder** in his eyes after what I did to the princes). Óin was particularly miserable (Dwalin and I didn't help in that regard. But **Dwalin** … and that smile of his … so warm, like his touches ... I mean, touches in a friendly way!). Bilbo didn't want to bathe at first, but somehow Thorin changed his mind (good on him!). And Nori looks like he's up to something, but what (he won't tell me until tonight)? _

_\- Ori._

* * *

The sun was at its peak when the Company of Thorin Oakenshield stopped beside the river-bank to bathe.

The Dwarves, the Hobbit and even their Wizard guide were sweltering in their clothes. Bilbo, who was dressed lightly in comparison to the others, was perspiring profusely. To his dismay, his hair lay matted against his head, his copper curls wet with sweat. He wiped his forehead with his forearm, only for the sweat to soak into his clothing, and his waterskin was fast becoming empty because he had to take a drink from it every minute or so to quench his never-ending thirst.

Myrtle also seemed to be suffering from the high temperatures; the pony panted under her breath whilst she trudged along slowly on the road. The combination of both the sunlight, and the weight of her rider and his supplies, made her struggle somewhat. She even refused to eat the apple that the Hobbit offered her. The apple was one of many that Bilbo was carrying – after packing up their camping equipment, Bofur (who had calmed down after what his cousin did that morning) had approached him and gave him a whole sack of fresh, red apples.

"In case Bombur tries his luck," he had whispered to him. "I think, out of the whole bally lot o' us, yer the only one who can say "no" to Bom. Me, I don't have the heart. I mean, look at that face he's throwin' at us right now, go on and look! How can anyone, 'sides ye, resist that face?"

Bilbo had sneaked a glance at his brother, who was looking at the sack of apples with hungry eyes and a quivering bottom lip, and gulped.

_Somehow I doubt that I can resist that face, either._

In this heat, however, Bombur hardly looked hungry. With beads of sweat dripping down everywhere from the top of his glistening bald spot to the tips of his orange-red moustache, causing his clothing to be soaked entirely through, the big Dwarf looked altogether uncomfortable.

_And so do the others._

Indeed, donned in their heavy clothing, the other Dwarves were also hot and bothered. Their fantastic braids hung limply, and their ruddy skins were ruddier than ever and flecked with sweat. To the observer, they looked comical in their apparel, for their slouched postures gave the impression that their clothing was oversized.

 _They're practically_ swimming _in their clothes, but it's too damn hot to laugh at them, they look so discomfited._

The worst offender, in the Hobbit's opinion, was Thorin Oakenshield. The dark-haired Dwarf tried to look dignified as he rode along on Eleanor with a straight posture and a determined expression on his face, but one thing about him bothered his non-Dwarvish companion.

"For goodness sake, Thorin, aren't you _dying_ in that awful coat?" Bilbo hissed under his breath to the leader of their company. The Hobbit and the Dwarf were riding side-by-side at the front with Gandalf, the taller being listening in over their ensuing conversation to take his mind off the blistering heat (and to amuse himself, mostly – he could barely contain his laughter because of the nonsense he was hearing from the duo).

Thorin frowned. "Less talk about my coat, Master Baggins, the more I feel less hot," he answered in a clipped voice, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

"I'm _baking_ just from looking at you."

"Then stop looking at me."

"In your best interests, Thorin, I really do think that you ought to take your coat off."

"I'll take my coat off when I'm good and ready."

"Right. When you're ready to give up the ghost because of heat-stroke."

Thorin growled. "Is this how you always treat your friends?"

"Only the stubborn-headed ones."

Gandalf guffawed loudly, so much so that the sweat-drenched Dwarves and their ponies all gave a start. Upon receiving questioning stares from them – and an especially heated glare from Thorin – Gandalf cleared his throat and, trying (but failing) to hide his amused grin, said:

"I must admit, Thorin, you _do_ look perfectly ridiculous wearing that coat in such scorching weather conditions. Wouldn't it be wise to just simply remove it?"

"I shall remove it when we shall stop to rest, and not before," Thorin answered tartly, ignoring Bilbo as he shook his head in frustration.

_Must he be so impossibly stubborn? I could smack him in the head but he won't feel a thing, because it's as solid as a rock – THAT'S how stubborn how he is!_

The Wizard raised an eyebrow at the obstinate Dwarf.

"When we stop to rest? Why only then? You'll be nothing but a puddle by that time, surely?"

"Not at all, because we're stopping right now. Everyone, _i'khizi_!"

With a few calls of "Whoa!"' and "Easy there now" to their panting ponies, the Company gradually eased to a halt. The sweating Dwarves looked up with curious yet perspiring faces as Thorin turned to look at them, smiling a small smile in spite of his own discomfort.

"I think that a quick bathe in the river would do us the whole world of good, wouldn't you say?" he proclaimed, gesturing to his right.

The Dwarves followed the movement and cheered when their eyes fell upon the nearby flowing river (which, in their current states, they had failed to notice – they all groaned inwardly for not realising that they were riding along on the river-bank for the last five minutes).

Gandalf chuckled. "Now _that_ sounds like a sensible idea, my dear Thorin. Well done!"

The dark-haired Dwarf stared at him. "You sound surprised."

"What, surprised that you came up with a good idea for once?" the tall being replied, grinning. "Well … maybe just a little … if not entirely …"

"I'll let that so-called witty remark slide this _once_ , because I'm too hot and bothered to do anything about it," Thorin grumbled, glaring with all his might at Gandalf, who merely chuckled again as he dismounted Florian.

"Alright, I'll leave you fellows to it," he said, taking hold of the pony's reins. "I shall see you lot in half an hour, if that is sufficient enough time."

"Wait, you're leaving us?" Bilbo exclaimed, sounding shrill, much to the surprise of his companions who were in hearing distance. "Aren't you going to bathe with us, Gandalf?"

"Worry not, Bilbo," the Wizard soothed, smiling at the suddenly distressed-looking Hobbit. "My method of cooling off after being in the heat for too long involves lying under a shady tree with a pipe in my hand and a tall glass of wine … the latter which, unfortunately, I don't have, but I suppose water will suffice."

"B-but Gandalf –!"

"I won't be far away, my dear Hobbit," Gandalf continued cheerfully, leading Florian away as they began to depart. "I'll be lying under that large oak tree if you need me, although I highly doubt it. Ta ta for now, fellows!"

"Gandalf, _wait_ –!"

But Gandalf did not wait. He led Florian and himself away from his companions towards the shady spot underneath the aforementioned tree that stood several yards away from them, whistling a merry tune with a bounce in his step.

_Confound and confusticate you, Gandalf! Why did you have to go and leave me like this?! AGAIN!_

Shaking his head at the disappearing Wizard, Thorin turned back to his companions and ( _oh gawd!_ ) removed his coat, revealing his scale armour and tunic, the latter which was drenched through so that the material stuck to his skin.

"We shall bathe for half an hour," he declared. "That'll be ample enough time to cool ourselves down and for the ponies to take rest. We shall continue on our journey when we are done. But first, secure the ponies and fill up bowls of water for them, and then proceed on to the river."

"Aye, Thorin!" everyone chorused, beginning to dismount their ponies.

Thorin nodded before dismounting Eleanor and turning his full attention to Bilbo, who looked petrified and sat stock-still on Myrtle. He frowned.

"Master Baggins, didn't you hear me?" he asked.

"Do we _all_ have to bathe, Thorin?" Bilbo asked, though his query came out like a squeak.

Thorin's eyebrows furrowed. "You don't have to if you don't want to, but I see no other alternative to cool ourselves down. Besides, it's been a long, insufferably hot day – bathing in the river will rid everyone of their discomfort, including yours. Thought you would jump at the chance."

He began to unstrap his vambraces as he spoke. Bilbo eyes fell on the Dwarf's soaked-through-sleeved arms, and he could clearly see the hint of muscles borne of labour running along them. He gulped as Thorin began to remove his armour, and the definition of his solid, muscular frame (particularly around the chest area, partly due to the wet, sticky tunic) was clear.

Bilbo gulped again. He could feel his cheeks grow warm.

 _He's … he's not going to_ strip _in front of_ me _, is he? Yavanna forbid, he just wouldn't …_

… _would he?_

"Master Baggins? _Bilbo_?"

The Hobbit was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard the sound of his name ( _how odd it is to hear Thorin refer to me by my first name, rather than only "Master Baggins" or "Hobbit" or bloody "burglar"; will I ever get used to this new Thorin?_ ). He looked at Thorin, who stared up at him with his bemused blue eyes.

"Bilbo, are you feeling alright?" he asked, taking hold of Eleanor's reins. His muscles flexed involuntarily as he did so.

"No, Thorin – I-I mean, yes, I'm fine," Bilbo replied hurriedly, turning his gaze away from his Dwarvish companion. He quickly dismounted Myrtle, much to the pony's relief. "I'll go and secure Myrtle, shall I?"

The dark-haired Dwarf nodded, though he still looked bemused. "You do that. I shall do the same with Eleanor. Then we shall meet here at the river."

As he began to lead his pony away, Thorin added in a dry whisper, a smirk on his lips, "I'm baking just from looking at you."

Bilbo rolled his eyes at that one.

"Ha ha, very clever," he remarked sarcastically. "I wonder where I heard _that_ one before?"

Thorin shrugged his shoulders, sending another ripple throughout his body ( _does his body have a mind of its own or something?!_ ), and led Eleanor towards a small oak tree.

Shaking his head with a groan, Bilbo led Myrtle to a small yet leafy tree, the shade of which would provide some respite from the sun's ungodly rays. Securing her to the tree, the Hobbit went to fill up some water from the river and set the bowl before the brown pony, who enthusiastically began to lap up its contents.

"At least you don't have to worry about undressing in front of these Dwarves," Bilbo whispered to her, affectionately rubbing her snout.

Myrtle gave a sort of noise that sounded akin to a snort before she returned to drinking her water.

Giving her a fond smile, Bilbo looked up and immediately felt his smile disappear.

_Yavanna, take me NOW._

Before his very eyes, his Dwarvish companions, who were standing nearby, were beginning to undress.

_They're taking their clothes off._

_In front of **me**!_

Indeed, the boots were being pulled off, the vambraces being unstrapped, the tunics being pulled over the heads (thus revealing exposed, damp skin), the belts being unbuckled, the pants being pulled down …

"Augh!" Bilbo whimpered, covering his eyes and turning his back on them.

_Calm down, Bilbo. Don't look at them. Just get yourself to the river, put your feet in the water and relax, but don't even glance up when they come your way._

He trotted to the river as quickly as he could. Sitting down on the bank, the Hobbit rolled up the sleeves of his trousers and dunked his legs in the oh-so-heavenly cold water, removed his waistcoat and loosened his neckerchief. Leaning back and resting on his hands, a small breeze granting him temporary reprieve, he could feel himself beginning to relax, to cool down …

"GANGWAAAAY!"

In the edge of his vision, all Bilbo saw was a nude, Dwarf-shaped blur with chestnut-brown hair zipping by, jumping into the air and –

_KerSPLAAASH!_

A wave of water hit Bilbo's front, dousing his entire body from his curls to his trousers. The water splashed into his face and somehow zoomed up his nostrils, stealing his breath for a few seconds. Coughing and spluttering, the Hobbit wiped his eyes to see a Dwarf standing shoulder-deep in the water, wearing a cheeky-looking grin.

"Sorry, Master Baggins, didn't mean to douse ye like that," Bofur called, his loose hair hanging down. "But ye got to admit, though, the water is _great_! Ye gonna get in or what?"

"Well – _ack!_ – Bofur, I'll – _ahem!_ – see how I – _harrumph!_ – go. You – _haack!_ – enjoy yourself. _Huurumph – hack_!"

"Ah, suit yerself," Bofur replied before dipping his head beneath the water.

Before long, the other Dwarves began to make their way down to the river. Averting his gaze (and _still_ trying to clear his throat at the same time), Bilbo heard the _tromp-tromp!_ of his companions as they passed by him, entering the water with cries of "Ooh, this feels marvellous!" and "Ah, this is great!" and "Brrr, it's so cold!" When he looked up again, he found that many of the Dwarves were paddling about and wading in the river. Some of them, like Bofur, had loosened their hair from their complicated braids, including the ones in their beards (for fear of losing their precious hair-beads).

On the other side of the river, Thorin Oakenshield was waist-deep in the water, washing his face and running his hands through his long, dark locks. Droplets glistened on his fair skin like fiery gems, dripping down his toned arms and muscular chest and back into the water.

_Goodness, he's much bigger than I imagined him to be. And this thought came out more awkward than I intended it to sound. I mean, he's certainly muscular and … and …_

_Dear me, am I_ really _staring at him? I don't mean to do such a thing, but … he_ is _big … oh botheration …!_

Bilbo covered his burning face with his hands in frustration.

_Please, please, PLEASE let this half hour go by quickly! For my sake, please …_

* * *

"Do it. Go on, I dare you."

"No. _You_ do it."

"Are you mad? _You_ do it."

"No way, _you_ do it."

"I don't want to get into trouble."

"Neither do I, you idiot. Balin and Óin will thump us both if we break our resolutions."

A pause.

"But it's _so_ tempting," Kíli whined.

"It is," Fíli admitted.

The princes sighed, staring at Bilbo as he sat on the river-bank, unaware that the two young Dwarves were behind him, watching him and whispering together.

_Tempted._

The brothers were undressed, their hair tied up in ponytails. Fíli almost had a golden sheen to his skin, and he was certainly well-built, as was Kíli – who was a few inches taller than his older brother – although he was fair like Thorin. They were about to enter the water with a big splash, so to speak, because Mahal knew it was scorchingly hot …

… but when they saw the Hobbit sitting by his lonesome on the riverbank, oblivious to his surroundings and altogether coming off as a delicious-looking target, Fíli and Kíli stopped in their tracks and felt a strong, painfully-sweet sensation overcome their frames:

_Temptation._

The temptation to cause _trouble_.

Immediately, as they stared at the burglar, the same thought entered the brothers' minds:

_Push Bilbo Baggins into the river._

"Just a small push," Fíli whispered, watching the Hobbit's movements like a hungry snake. "And _splash!_ – into the river he goes."

"Aye," Kíli agreed, eyeing the small creature as if he were a piece of meat. "We can say it was an accident. Fell over him as we tried to jump in."

Without realising it, they took a step towards their prey. _Tromp!_

"It's horrible, but it feels _right_ ," the golden-haired prince muttered, the temptation stirring strongly in his body.

_Tromp!_

"It's for his own good," his brother whispered in response. "He'll boil like a potato if he's not going to bathe. We _have_ to change his mind."

_Tromp!_

"What if Balin and Óin thrash us? The incentives system, remember?" Fíli mumbled, trying to push away his temptation, but the attempt was in vain as it sprung back with a vengeance.

 _Tromp!_ The brothers were just one step away from Bilbo …

"Then it was totally worth it," Kíli uttered, stretching out his arms towards the inattentive Hobbit …

Suddenly, the brothers felt an alarming pressure pressing down on their shoulders. Before they could cry out, they could feel their bodies propelling forward, falling downwards and –

_SPLLAAAASHHHH!_

Fíli and Kíli surfaced in the middle of the river, coughing and spluttering something fierce and trying their damnedest to ignore the stinging sensation around the fronts of their bodies where they had landed. When they had regained their breath, the angry duo looked up to see who had dared to push them into the river.

A second or later, their expressions of anger blossomed into surprise when their eyes fell upon _Ori_ , who stood beside Bilbo (he did not get splashed this time around), who averted his gaze once more as the naked scribe looked down at the princes with a triumphant look on his face and his hands on his hips.

"Goodness, I didn't know I was strong enough to do _that_!" he cried, grinning. "Guess it runs in my family!"

Kíli and Fíli stared at him, utterly stupefied.

"Ori …" the golden-haired prince said in disbelief, " _you_ pushed us?"

Ori nodded, still smiling that exultant smile.

"Did it so _you_ didn't have to! Is the water nice?"

The brothers growled, but their threats died in their throats. They were fully aware that the others, including Balin and Óin, were watching them now – after all, their splash had gotten their attention right away. If they were to make their threats known to the scribe, then _everyone_ would witness it, and deem that the princes were planning to cause, and inevitably carry out, trouble. Then their second-cousins, who had given them their resolutions, would judge them accordingly.

In other words, Balin and Óin would punish them to _filth_.

And that was something, as the temptation had faded away along with their carelessness, they did not want to happen.

In a way, Ori had saved them from themselves. He also did not let himself stand around like a meek little mouse when he saw them getting tempted. No, he had lived up to his resolution, plain and simple.

Still, Fíli and Kíli (especially the latter), did not want to give him the satisfaction that they were impressed.

Slightly, but still impressed.

"No comment," Fíli finally managed before he swam away with Kíli in tow, the princes grumbling away to themselves.

* * *

Ori smiled after Fíli and Kíli, his heart beating away strongly in his chest. Oh, he felt absolutely rebellious in that moment, daring himself to lay a finger on the two brothers and pushing them with all his might into the river, and, as he stood there, the feeling lingered.

_Rebellious against Dori? Definitely! Against myself? Indubitably! And doesn't it feel amazing! Makes me think of that line from Bifur's poem to me: "Repressed, however, no longer describes you". How prophetic!_

_But I shouldn't get carried away_ , he thought as he walked away from Bilbo. _I may have a resolution to uphold, but that doesn't mean that I have to act so brutally. There are other ways to break out of my shell and be more assertive without being brutish –_

"My, my, Ori, you're really surprisin' me!"

Ori turned around to find himself looking at … well, a broad-shouldered, muscular chest with a small tattoo of a raven in mid-flight on a tanned, left pectoral.

Flushing a little, the scribe looked upwards at the smiling face of Dwalin, saying, "And you keep surprising _me_ whenever you approach me like this, Mister Dwalin."

The tall Dwarf chuckled. "Well, lad, I don't mean to do that, but I must say …"

He leaned in, and Ori could feel the heat emanating off his frame. His voice dropped to a whisper, almost a rumble. "I think this resolution of yours is doin' you the world of good. I'm able to see a side of you that I've never seen before, and it's unbelievable – refreshin', even – to see you in a different light."

The scribe's heart fluttered in his chest, but he refused to let himself look shy or weak in front of Dwalin again ( _after all, why should I? Why_ do _I?_ ).

He crossed his arms over his chest, smirking a little. "I dare say, Mister Dwalin, that the same could be said about _your_ resolution as well. You've been awfully kind to me and everyone else – not that you were never kind before, but I think it's nice to see that you _do_ have a soft side."

This time, it was Dwalin who began to flush ( _was it something I said?_ ). Twirling a dark strand of hair around his finger in an un-Dwalinish fashion, he said, "I suppose it's not a side of me that I tend to show off often. 'Cause when you're surrounded by tomfools like Fíli and Kíli, it's hardly an appropriate time to be generous and the like. It's been quite hard maintainin' this resolution of mine, you know, more so than you with yours."

"Why, Mister Dwalin, I think you're doing _marvellously_ ," Ori said, sounding sincere. He smiled again. "Just keep on doing what you're doing. Of course, if you ever need someone to take Fíli and Kíli down a peg or two, you can always count on me."

Here, the bald warrior Dwarf smiled, too. He nodded at Ori, saying, "I'll keep your offer in mind, Ori, thank you. And don't you hesitate to call on me for a soft word; I could use the practice."

Ori's laughter sounded light and melodic to Dwalin's ears.

"I'll be more than willing to help, Mister Dwalin," he replied, his eyes sparkling.

"You know, Ori, you needn't refer to me as "Mister Dwalin"," said Dwalin, placing a tattooed hand on the scribe's bare shoulder ( _it feels so warm_ – _he's like a hot-water bottle!_ ). "We can do 'way with "Mister". It sounds like a mouthful, that whole "Mister Dwalin" business."

Ori looked up at him, his soft brown eyes akin to shimmering smoky quartz ( _have they always looked like that?_ Dwalin wondered).

"If you insist … Dwalin," he said softly.

Dwalin chuckled again. "That I do, lad, that I do," he said, removing his hand. "Now, are we goin' to stand around here lookin' pretty or are we goin' to take a dip?"

"Oh, I almost forgot about that," answered Ori, trying in vain to hide his blushing cheeks and turning his body slightly to the side.

_It's bad enough that I forgot we're both naked, but we probably look quite strange to the others, standing so close and …_

_Oh Mahal, I'm_ naked _in front of Dwalin! And he's naked in front of_ me _!_

_We're naked in front of **each other**!_

_But we've bathed so many times before … why is this bothering me_ now _?_

Before the scribe could dwell on the matter any further, he felt the warm hand take hold of his arm, pulling him gently towards the river. In his ear, he could hear Dwalin's voice ringing: "Come on, Ori, last one in has to go on watch with Fíli or Kíli tonight!"

How surprised was the tall Dwarf when the scribe pulled away and suddenly broke into a run, calling over his shoulder to him before he jumped, "Then I hope you have a lot of fun with one of them tonight, Dwalin! You could do with more practice!"

Dwalin stared, then he grinned as he followed Ori into the water.

"I'll get you for that one!" he cried as he ran.

* * *

"Dori, you shouldn't look so stressed. Stress is terribly unhealthy."

"Please, Mister Balin, I know you're tryin' to help, but it isn't exactly helpin', I'm afraid."

Dori turned his gaze away from the white-haired Dwarf back to Ori and Dwalin; the two Dwarves were swimming across the way from him and seeming to be having a good time. He had watched them earlier, with suspicious and worried eyes, as they conversed with each other on the river-bank after Ori had pushed the princes into the water ( _shame on them for corrupting him, my poor,_ _gentle_ _brother!_ Dori had thought with a groan). In the eldest Ri's opinion, Dwalin was standing _too_ close to his little brother for his liking, leaning in towards him in a most menacing manner and practically pounding his shoulder off with that tattooed paw. And oh, Mahal help him, how Dori wanted to punch that overgrown oaf's lights out for pulling Ori by his arm so brutally, so _forcefully_ , towards the river ( _doesn't he realise how frail he is?!_ ).

Balin watched as Dori's fists clench and his body tense up when he saw Dwalin splash Ori, who cried out, laughed and splashed him back. The advisor sighed.

"You're not seriously goin' to knock Dwalin for being friendly to Ori, are you?" he asked, leaning back against a rock that was lodged on the river-bank.

"No, but I'm _tempted_ ," Dori growled, looking murderous. "Good grief, he's practically _drowning_ my brother, the rotten sod!"

Balin stared, frowning. "Come now, Dori, that's hardly a nice thing to say, _especially_ when the "rotten sod" in question is my brother. They're just havin' fun, is all, so you shouldn't work yourself up over it. Please calm down."

"I _can't_ calm down!" the silver-haired Dwarf hissed, turning on Balin with flaming eyes. "Ori did a terrible thing earlier, pushin' the boys into the river. Mahal knows that the kind, lovely soul that is my brother would never _dream_ to have committed such a nasty act if I had been there!"

"We don't know that for certain, but I do think we ought to let the incident go and let Ori and Dwalin be. It's not doin' you any bit of good, worryin' yourself about it."

"Whilst Dwalin manhandles my brother, Mister Balin? All the more reason to feel worried!"

Balin closed his eyes, sighing deeply, and Dori wondered if he had overstepped his bounds. He did not mean to offend the esteemed Dwarf, but seeing his younger, tattooed brother mess about with Ori – dear, sweet and innocent little Ori …

The temptation, _to_ _fuss over Ori_ , welled over in his chest.

Finally, Balin opened his eyes, looking straight at the eldest Ri with a tired expression.

"Dori," he said softly, "for your sake, don't let those negative feelings overcome you. I can't bear to see you like this, worried for nothin' and gettin' yourself in a tizz. You're so much better than that, so much _stronger_ than that …"

Getting up from against the rock, the white-haired Dwarf waded towards Dori, stopping before him and touching his shoulder with unusually slender fingers ( _were they always like that? Then again, he always wears those gloves … they add to his sophisticated look, I always thought_ …). His grasp was strong, firm on his skin.

Suddenly, the temptation began to cool down.

"You have to conquer your fussiness sooner or later," Balin continued, smiling a little now, "but I tell you now, I won't let you do it alone, lest you stray off a bit. I'm willin' to help you stick to your resolution in any which I can. Dori, do you accept my offer?"

Dori stared at him.

Balin stared back.

_The temptation was slowly ebbing away …_

Then, the eldest Ri's lips curled into a half-smile.

"Are you bein' sincere, Mister Balin," he asked, "or is this part of your optimistic front?"

A smile graced the other Dwarf's lips.

"I am bein' sincere in my intentions, if that eases your state of your mind," he answered, meaning every word he said. "This, I promise you."

Dori's smile was wide now. "I believe you."

* * *

"Nori, what're ye doin'?"

"Bugger off, Bofur. I'm busy, can't you tell?"

"If yer about to do what I think yer doin' –"

"Keep it down, you plonker, otherwise you'll give the 'ole game away!" Nori hissed, trying his best to get out of the river without drawing attention to himself.

Quietly as he could, he drew his body out of the water in a smooth, sleek motion. Bofur, who was floating some metres away from his companions, cast an admiring glance at the amazing length of the thief's auburn hair that trailed down his back. Water droplets cascaded down his lithesome body in abandon, although it did not distract the observer from the red, irritated patch of skin on his arm where he had been stung.

_Still, he's a pretty bugger. I wish my hair could grow as long as his. At least mine's a wee bit longer than Bifur and Bombur's hair – and I'm the only one in my family whose hair is naturally curly. Bifur reckons that my havin' curly hair is the reason behind my so-called devilish attitude and why I took to drink more than anything else._

_Phwoar_ _, Nori_ _'s got_ _a nice arse …!_

"Quit yer starin'," Nori's voice cut through into his thoughts. The thief in question was standing on the river-bank, looking over his shoulder at Bofur with a frown.

Bofur shrugged. "I can't help meself. I'm a connoisseur of fine art – or fine _arses_."

"Shut it, you wally," the auburn-haired Dwarf grumbled, although he could not prevent a smile forming on his lips. Turning away, his gaze fell on the ponies secured to the trees.

Bofur followed his gaze, and the cheeky grin emblazoned across his face instantly transformed into a worried frown.

 _Oh no_ …

"Nori, are ye crazy?" he muttered, paddling towards the river-bank where the other Dwarf stood. "Get back in here right now b'fore ye do something stupid."

"I said _k_ _eep it_ down, why don't you?" Nori barked, still looking at the ponies; specifically, the bags in which his companions had packed their clothes and kept their belongings. "The others ain't wotchin' - they won't spot me 'elpin' meself to an 'air-bead or two, an' they'll never know."

His fox-like eyes glittered. "Easy peasy."

"Can ye _hear_ yerself?" Bofur hissed. "Yer actin' like we never made tha' deal last night. I watch yer back, and ye watch mine, remember?"

"If you can forget about the bloody deal for just a moment and shut your gob, I'll try an' nip you some ale, eh?"

The other Dwarf pursed his lips. It was a tempting thought, _to drink alcohol_ after going without it for over 24 hours. And oh, how he missed the aromatic taste of the cool, golden liquid that warmed his core and made him feel so good, so _great_ …

_And it's so bleedin' hot, even bathin' won't do. But a bit o' beer would be the best remedy; one mug of that stuff won't get me ripped to the giddy tits._

_And Nori, he's a quick 'un. He won't be seen. He can easily grab my flask out of me bag whilst he does his business._

_Like he said, they'll never know …_

Nori watched Bofur floating there, battling internally with himself, and he chuckled.

"While y'fink about it, mate, I'll just go 'elp m'self," he whispered, turning his attention back to his companions' bags, which – in his hungry eyes – seemed to be beckoning him from a distance.

 _Come_ _on, Nori_ , they were crying out to the Dwarf, who was completely overwhelmed with the temptation _to steal the other Dwarves'_ _possessions_ right there and then. _We have hair-beads,_ _coins, pipes, jewellery … anything you desire, it_ _is_ _yours for the taking._

Nori's fingers back to itch.

 _It's now or never_ …

Unfortunately for him, it was going to have to be never.

So consumed by the sight of the unguarded bags, he did not register the splashing of the water as Bofur pulled himself out of the river, nor did he register the miner coming up from behind him; it was only when he felt a pair of wet arms wrap around his waist, pulling him backwards, that the thief gave a huge start, lost his balance and plunged headlong into the river with a shriek …

… and with the other Dwarf hanging onto him, shrieking as well.

Nori rose to the surface, reminiscent of a long-haired cat that had the worst bath ever (I'll leave that up to you to try and imagine). He was no longer overcome by his earlier desire, nor did his fingers feel itchy any more – instead, he could only glare irately at Bofur, who was spitting out water.

"'Ere, what the 'ell are you playin' at?" the thief growled at him. "I was so _close_!"

Bofur regarded Nori from under his dark lashes. "Aye, close to settin' a foot in the Halls of Mahal!" he replied. "Ye mad fecker, Glóin would have _murdered_ ye if he ever found out what ye did. Then he'd tell Bifur, and I can tell ye right now, my cousin can dish out punishments like ye wouldn't believe. He'd make an Orc cry, he's tha' scary."

He shuddered.

"Nevertheless, we still have a deal," he continued, crossing his arms. "I may not keep easily to this resolution lark, and I know I can be a bit of a rule-breaker (Bif and Bom can testify to that) … but promises between _friends_ , I can keep. Even when the friend in question can be a downright numpty."

Nori raised his eyebrows at the proclamation.

"You daft pillock," he breathed. "Yer really serious about this, ain't you?"

Bofur nodded, droplets falling from his curls. "'Course I am. 'Sides, it'd be a shame if Glóin thrashed that pretty arse of yers."

The other Dwarf rolled his eyes, but Bofur's grin was infectious. Smiling, he reached out to touch the miner's shoulder, giving it a friendly pat.

"Cheers, Bof," he said. "I appreciate you wotchin' my back … _and_ my arse."

"Always, Nori," came the saucy reply. "What fool wouldn't?"

* * *

It was unbearably hot, no doubt about it, but the water was just _too bloody_ cold for words.

The moment they got undressed, Óin and Glóin made their way to the river, only to stop themselves short from getting in when they felt with their toes just how cold the water was. For the hot-blooded brothers, it was the equivalent of stepping into an inch of freezing snow. They had half a mind to turn around and get dressed again, but the sun's rays mercilessly shone down on them, burning into their backs …

A curse nearly escaped from Óin's lips as he sat down on the river-bank and slowly dipped his legs into the water. He hissed, feeling as if he were being stabbed by thousands of cold, icy shards. The water only went up to his knees, but it was torturous enough, and it dampened the healer's mood by a ten-fold.

Glóin, brave lad that he was, ventured into the frigid depths.

"Whoo! Whooo!" he cried, the water attacking his skin. The fiery-haired Dwarf managed to get waist-deep in the water, and there he remained, scowling for Middle Earth and in an altogether foul mood. If he had his way, he would have lost his temper and cursed Mahal to filth about the water's ungodly temperature.

 _There's a reason why_ we're _the fire-starters, for goodness sake!_

Their moods were sullied further when they were unceremoniously splashed by Ori and Dwalin. The two Dwarves were having a sort of splashing match when they sent a tidal wave in the brothers' direction. Before they knew it, Óin and Glóin were doused from the head downwards, their thick hair dripping wet and matted against their now-soaked skin.

Wiping their eyes, the brothers shot red-hot glares at Ori and Dwalin, both of whom looked _very_ amused.

"You _imbeciles_!" Óin yelled. "Look what you did to us! Have you no shame?"

"Sorry, cousin," Dwalin replied, smiling cheekily. "We didn't see you."

"Didn't see us, my a – er, my _bottom_! Young Ori, what've you got to say for yourself?"

The scribe hesitated, but when he did answer, he said: "I'm sorry, Misters Óin and Glóin. At least you're not hot any more, though."

Óin had to bite down hard on his tongue to prevent himself from swearing at the lad, whilst Glóin tried (with some difficulty) to contain his rage – indeed, his face was promising to turn a violent shade of purple. The temptation _to lose his temper_ – likewise with his older brother _to swear_ – was great, but ( _miraculously!_ ) they were able to push these enticing feelings away.

"Just watch it next time," Óin growled in warning, "otherwise we won't be as tolerant, incentives be _darned_."

Glóin nodded, his eyes burning dangerously

Dwalin and Ori nodded, sharing a grin before swimming away.

When they were gone, the brothers shook their heads.

"I swear, I nearly lost it with those two," Glóin muttered crossly. "They practically drowned me – gah, I'm freezin'!"

"I know what you mean, _nadadith_ ," Óin said with a sigh, picking at his drenched grey hair. "I swear, I nearly _swore_ 'em out! Today's just not my day."

"Why, are you thinkin' about the poem? Are you finally goin' to tell me what Bifur wrote to you?"

The healer sighed again, albeit out of annoyance. "Never you mind, Glóin. It's got nothin' to do with you."

The fiery-haired Dwarf frowned. "I know this poem is annoyin' you, and it's goin' to annoy me, too, if you don't tell me what it says."

"Right now, _you're_ annoyin' me," groaned Óin. "Go swim or something. And since your hair is already wet, give it a good wash. I'm not braidin' unclean hair."

Glóin opened his mouth as if to say something, but he closed it again. Instead, he cast his brother a withering look, shook his head and waded out into the deep.

Óin sighed again as he crossed his legs. He had quite long legs for a Dwarf; in fact, he was the third-tallest Dwarf in the Company; Dwalin and Thorin were the tallest of the lot. There was a rumour – more of a running joke among Óin's kin, really – that an Elf had married into the bloodline a long time ago, and this, Gróin and Uncle Fundin had always joked, was why the line of Durin was inclined towards tallness. It also explained why the younger generation had fairer looks, why he and Balin had such slender fingers (which they hid with gloves), and why he took to the art of healing rather than finance or jewellery-making, occupations which his parents had intended for him to take up.

 _I'd rather deal with people than with objects_ , he thought, beginning to braid his hair.

" _Need help?_ "

If Óin had known that Bifur was going to turn up out of nowhere to utter that question, he would not have thought that above statement at all.

The healer nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the husky voice speaking in Khuzdûl right in his ear. Turning to his left, he found himself looking into a pair of dark eyes belonging to none other than his axe-embedded friend.

"Good grief, Bifur, you nearly gave me a heart attack!" Óin cried. "Where the he – I mean, where did you come from?"

Bifur gestured towards the water. " _I had a good swim_ ," he signed. And it looked like he did. His jet-black hair trailed past his shoulders in wet strands. His skin was dampish, drops of water running down his strapping body in abandon. The axe-blade glinted in the sunlight. " _I saw Dwalin and Ori splashing you and Glóin. You must be freezing._ "

His eyes ran over the other Dwarf, and Óin suddenly felt his cheeks reddening.

 _Why is he lookin' at me this way? What exactly_ is _he lookin' at?_

"Er, just a little," he murmured in response, pulling at his hair nervously.

Bifur seemed unaware of his friend's sudden shyness. He glanced at his hair-pulling and signed, " _Would you like me to braid your hair?_ "

The healer's cheeks were redder than red at this point.

"Um, I think I can manage, thanks," he answered, not knowing what else to say. He did not want to offend his companion, but, after happened that morning …

Bifur did not look offended. He signed, " _How are you holding up with your resolution?_ "

"Ach, well enough," answered Óin, trying to relax. "It's a trifle difficult, but I'm gettin' used to it. I'll _have_ to, now with that incentives system in place.

"I dare say, though," he continued, staring Bifur dead in the eye, "you're gettin' on quite well with your resolution, thanks to your cousin."

The axe-embedded Dwarf glanced downwards, a blush creeping to his cheeks, to the surprise of the healer. When he looked up again, his blush still lingered as he signed, " _You are referring to the poems that I wrote, aren't you?_ "

Before he could answer, Óin received yet another surprise when Bifur suddenly leaned in towards him. Those eyes held a strange shine, and those rosy-coloured cheeks, unbelievably, were giving off a little warmth (yes, he was leaning in _that_ close to Óin).

" _Óin, can I ask you something?_ " he asked with his voice, loud enough for the deaf Dwarf to hear.

Óin, whose heart was beating at a fast pace at the close proximity of his friend, gulped.

"I suppose you can …" he answered meekly.

_What is he goin' to ask me?_

Bifur cast a glance around him before turning back to Óin. Then, in a soft, gentle voice void of its usual huskiness, he asked:

" _Óin … do you think Dwalin liked my poem?_ "

"I'm sorry, what?"

" _I said –_ "

"No, I heard you the first time," the healer interrupted, goggle-eyed. "But, did _you_ just ask _me_ if _Dwalin_ liked your poem?"

Bifur nodded.

Óin stared.

_Dwalin? DWALIN?! He's askin' me about DWALIN?! When my nerves are already shot after what that poem did to me?!_

_But then, does that mean Bifur's One is DWALIN?! Out of everyone here, it's DWALIN?! My BLOODY cousin is the Dwarf that Bifur's after?!_

" _Óin?_ " Bifur said, tapping the healer on the shoulder. " _Are you alright?_ "

"I'm … fine," lied Óin, still in disbelief. "But Bifur, why are you askin' me if Dwalin likes your poem?"

The axe-embedded Dwarf blinked. " _I was just wondering if you knew._ "

"Oh … oh, well, I don't know," said Óin, sneaking a glance at Dwalin, who was busy washing his beard. "Why don't you go and ask him yourself?"

Bifur shrugged. " _It's alright_ ," he signed. " _I think I know already. Sorry to have bothered you._ "

"Bifur, wait –"

But before a very flustered Óin could bring up the subject of his own poem, Bifur slid into the water, swimming in slow strokes towards Bofur and Nori. He passed by Glóin, who stared after him with an expressionless look. Then, the fiery-haired Dwarf made his way towards his brother, who looked deflated, to say the least.

"What did he say to you?" he asked outright. "Tell me."

Óin glared at him. "Watch your tone, Glóin."

"I mean it, Óin. If he hurt you in any way –"

"Listen to yourself!" the grey-haired Dwarf cried. "Bifur's my _friend_. He'd _never_ hurt me."

"Then what the hell did he say to you?" Glóin growled, clenching his fists.

"Oh, you're _hopeless_!" Óin exclaimed, exasperated, before sliding into the ice-cold river and furiously swimming far away from his younger sibling, who called after him to no avail.

 _Amad and Adad were right_ , he thought bitterly, biting back the barrage of curse-words on the tip of his tongue as the water stabbed him in multitudes. _I should have taken up finance or jewellery-makin'. I wouldn't have had to deal with people like Bifur and Glóin_.

_Especially when it comes to the business of courtin'._

_But seriously? Dwalin …?_

* * *

Bombur eyed the sack of apples lying on the ground in a manner akin to a Warg eyeing its prey.

It was a darn lucky thing that no one noticed his absence in the river (a great achievement, given the fact that the big Dwarf packed more bulk than four Dwarfs put together and was as noticeable as ants on a picnic-blanket – you can't miss them). Now, he stood behind a rock, staring at the sack that Bofur had given Bilbo to guard and which was now lying on the ground after it fell out of Bilbo's satchel.

Exposed.

Unblemished.

_Uneaten._

Oh, only Mahal knew how hungry Bombur was! He was accustomed to eating a snack whenever it suited him. It had been like that ever since he was a beardling; _Amad_ and _Adad_ , may their souls rest in peace, would buy him and Bofur a cookie or an apple to eat whenever they had spare change left over. His father's brother, Sivar, doted on his nephews and treated them to slices of bread with honey or strawberry jam. Bifur and Bofur always shared their food with him, and that continued to this very day; Bifur also rewarded him with treats as a means of motivation whilst he was studying to become an engineer. Now, with a wife and twelve bairns to support, Bombur made sure that his pantry was always full – it had to be, no matter what work he could take. Still, it never stopped him from wandering into the pantry to grab a little something to satisfy his cravings, be it a chicken-leg, a honeycomb biscuit, an _apple_ …

Bombur's stomach rumbled, and he groaned.

_Ooh, I'm starvin'! An apple would be lovely right now. I'm sure it's nearly lunchtime, so it wouldn't be sneakin' if I help m'self to an apple or two at this moment in time. Or three. Or …_

The big Dwarf stepped out from behind the rock, his hungry eyes staring at nothing but the apples. He licked his lips at the salivating thought of eating one of those red, juicy orbs …

Yup, you guessed it: the temptation _to sn_ _eak some food_ was strong with Bombur.

He lumbered forward, heading straight towards the sack of apples with his arms outstretched, ready to grab the fruit –

Bombur stopped abruptly in his tracks when a refreshed-looking Myrtle appeared from behind the trunk of the leafy tree and stood next to the sack.

In one quick motion, the brown pony dipped her snout into the sack and began to _eat all of the apples_.

Yes, Myrtle was eating all of the apples in the sack.

Bombur's jaw dropped in horror.

_No …_

Myrtle took no notice of the plump, horrified Dwarf, continuing to chomp to her heart's delight on the delicious apples that she had refused earlier. After a minute or so, she stood back, emitted a satisfied whinny and trotted back into the shade.

Bombur merely stared at the completely empty sack.

_There's none left._

_She ate all the apples, and she didn't even leave **one**!_

_None …_

All of a sudden, the big Dwarf felt his eyes watering and his lips quivering. He sniffed, and then sniffed again.

_It's just not fair … it's not fair at all!_

His stomach growled again.

Feeling the tears threatening to fall, Bombur turned on his feels and ran towards the river, reminiscent of a child in the throes of a temper tantrum.

He jumped …

* * *

_These Dwarves will be the death of me, I swear!_

Bilbo coughed up the last of the water in his lungs, feeling very sorry for himself. Bombur's cannonballing into the river had sent another wave of water over the now-waterlogged Hobbit. This irritated him immensely, but what really irritated him further was the fact that Bombur did not deign to apologise. Instead, the big Dwarf had swam towards his brother and his cousin, who began to speak to him in Khuzdûl in hushed voices: they also patted his back and tugged on his hair, as if they were trying to comfort him. Indeed, Bombur looked down in the dumps.

_If it's because he's hungry, then it's his own fault. Serves him right for splashing me without saying he's sorry._

It was Bilbo's temper talking, and he did not mean a word of it, but really, he had enough of being splashed, and he felt as if he had the right to think nasty thoughts about his companions.

_I dare say they're acting a lot like their old selves before they came on strange yesterday. Well, curse them all, I say! And not just this lot, but every living Dwarf in existence –_

"You don't look at all happy, Bilbo."

Bilbo did not need to look up to see that it was Thorin Oakenshield who was speaking to him. His voice was all too familiar at this time, and he, like Dwalin, had a habit of appearing out of nowhere to drop a comment.

That, and Bilbo did not _want_ to look up.

_Who knows how decent Thorin is?_

"Bilbo?"

But the Hobbit had to look up when the leader of their company repeated his name. Swallowing, he turned his face upwards.

Thorin was standing waist-deep in the water, right before the Hobbit – he could reach out and touch the smaller creature's knee if he wanted to. His posture was straight, adding to the regal air that he gave off ( _even though he's buck-naked_ ). Up close, his muscles looked even more impressive. His black hair, lined with silver strands, framed his concerned face.

"You look like a child who just had a bad bath," he said, cocking his head to the side.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Bilbo asked wryly, trying not to let his eyes wander, especially downwards ( _why should they?_ ).

The dark-haired Dwarf shrugged. "It's merely an observation. I couldn't help but notice that you were - _are_ - looking rather miserable."

"Being splashed over and over again can do that to you."

"Then why don't you get in?"

"Excuse me?"

"Get undressed and get into the river," said Thorin, gesturing to the body of water. "You're already wet, so wouldn't it be best to come bathe with us instead of getting repeatedly splashed?"

_Oh no …_

"Uh, no, Thorin, I … I don't want to," Bilbo said, shaking his head.

Thorin's eyebrows rose. "Why not?" he asked.

"Because," the Hobbit muttered, looking down at his lap with burning cheeks.

"Because why?" Thorin asked again, albeit in a softer tone.

Bilbo's cheeks blazed.

"I …" he paused.

"Yes?" the Dwarf encouraged, feeling tempted – not _to_ _leave Bilbo_ , as you might have thought, but rather _to reach out and touch the Hobbit's knee_. He stopped himself before he carried out this action.

Finally, Bilbo looked up with a shudder, those apple-like cheeks crimson in colour.

"I feel nervous when I undress in front of people," he mumbled.

Thorin stared at him.

"Is that all?"

Bilbo nodded, the tips of ears glowing bright.

"I always feel like I'm being watched," he murmured softly, crossing his arms across his chest. "I never even used to undress in front of my parents, I was so shy … and scared of being judged. That's why I always found it difficult to bathe with you lot on this journey."

Thorin gazed at the Hobbit, his blue eyes softening.

"I never knew this bothered you, Bilbo," he whispered. "Now that I think of it, I do recall there were times when you would shy away from us whenever we stopped to bathe."

"Well, now you know," his companion said, nervously fiddling with a wet curl. "Although, I _am_ yearning to have a good bath right now. It's just that …"

He left the sentence unfinished.

Thorin sighed. If he had known about Bilbo's anxiety, then the problem could have been rectified sooner.

_Of course, I didn't know at the time because I hardly paid attention to him. But then, that's no excuse …_

There was only one thing he could think of to solve the issue.

"Bilbo," the dark-haired Dwarf whispered, his hand touching the Hobbit's knee; his companion stiffened in response, but he did not say a word.

"Bilbo, I won't force you to bathe with us, but … the others are not looking this way, and even if they did, they would not have anything bad to say. If I were to turn my back right now, would you consider undressing yourself and then bathe?"

Bilbo stared, his whole face on fire. "Are you really asking me this?"

Thorin nodded. "I am."

The Hobbit gazed at Thorin, his eyes searching for a catch, only to find none; no, this Dwarf was serious.

"You won't look?" he murmured at last.

"I won't look," affirmed Thorin, nodding.

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"Are you sure the others won't stare at me?"

"I'm sure, Bilbo." _They've been trying to not break their resolutions for the last twenty minutes. They're hardly going to notice you._

Bilbo looked hard at him, then at the hand on his knee, and he sighed.

"Well, who knows when I'll have my next bath …"

Thorin nodded. Taking back his hand ( _I wonder how that happened, my hand ending up there_ ), the dark-haired Dwarf swam backwards and turned his back on the Hobbit.

And, true to his word, he did not look as his companion pulled off his damp shirt and his trousers. He did not look when he heard a small _splash-splash!_ as the Hobbit slowly slipped into the water, issuing a pleased sigh. It was only when he felt a tap on his shoulder that he turned around.

His eyes fell on Bilbo, chest-deep in the water, smiling a shy smile at him. However, his bare shoulders were relaxed, indicating that he was, too.

_No longer tense._

Thorin smiled. "Better?"

" _Much_ better," Bilbo replied. He closed his eyes. "Mmm, this is definitely preferable to riding in the sun all day."

When he opened his eyes, the Dwarf saw that they held a sparkle, similar to the one he saw this morning.

"Thank you, Thorin, for respecting my privacy," he said sincerely. "It means a lot to me. Not many people would have understood my predicament."

"I try to help my stubborn-headed friends as much as possible," replied Thorin, unable to hide his grin as he swam away.

"Again, where have I heard that one before?" Bilbo laughed after him, though inwardly, his heart warmed with gladness.

_Well, what do you know? We're actually getting on like we're the best of friends!_

_Where has Thorin been hiding his kindness all this time, I wonder?_

_And how did he come to touch my knee like that? It's not like him to be affectionate with his gestures._

_Not that there's anything wrong with that –_

Shaking his head, thus ridding himself of these thoughts, Bilbo began to wash his hair.

* * *

_Upon Mahal's soul, I honestly never knew that Bilbo felt shy around us when it came to bathing._

_It's amazing how little I know about him._

_What more to him is there, I wonder?_

_And why was I impelled to touch him? Twice?_

These were the thoughts that ran through Thorin's head after he left the Hobbit, though with one firm shake of the head, they were gone.

Except for the last one.

It bothered him for the last ten minutes.

* * *

"Alright, you lot, did you all have a good swim?"

Gandalf gazed at the faces of his Dwarvish (and Hobbit) companions, who had dried themselves and put on their spare clothing. Some of the faces, like that of Fíli, Kíli, Óin and Bombur, held miserable expressions, whilst others, like Ori and Dwalin, looked happy.

When the Wizard's gaze fell upon Thorin and Bilbo, he was surprised to see them standing side-by-side, looking calm and relaxed, as if being in each other's presence was the reason behind their content. He smiled warmly at them before he addressed the Company again:

"Good. Now let us carry on with our journey. We've still got a long way to go."

 _Don't we bloody ever_ , thought the Dwarves, thinking of their resolutions.

None more so than Nori, who was inwardly cooking up a scheme for his companions …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'khizi! - Stop!  
> Ripped to the giddy tits - (Irish?) slang for "getting drunk".  
> Numpty - Irish slang for "foolish/stupid person".  
> Nadadith - Little brother.  
> Amad - Mother.  
> Adad - Father.
> 
> So ... a 9800+ word chapter about naked Dwarves. Is this a decent apology for not updating in the longest time? ^_^;; Forgive me! Real-life is hoooorible. T_T And forgive me for not updating the other stories yet - I wanted to update this one before I started on the others (so expect more baby Dwarves and drunk Dwarves coming your way!).  
> Personally, I enjoyed the Bofur/Nori section the most, but which bits did you guys like? Let me know in the comments below!  
> I very nearly named this chapter "Riparian Entertainment" (it's the Hyacinth Bucket in me), but I have a feeling that temptations (and distractions) will arise again soon enough, heh heh ... XD
> 
> And yes, Óin is the third-tallest Dwarf in the Company, according to this height chart at http://media.tumblr.com/fe736cede58224929734a827ba260f76/tumblr_mhos2lSLs51rmwdaro1_500h.jpg Besides ... I'm giving you long-legged realness because of reasons. X3 Also, I read somewhere that John Callen (who plays Óin), could not wear those prosthetic arms because of his arthritis, so they gave him the mittens to wear to cover up his hands (which, in my personal head-canon, are long and slender, but Óin doesn't show it off much).
> 
> Off-note, 10 March will mark one year since I joined AO3, and let me tell you, it's been an awesome experience! I've met so many nice people in this fandom, and my stories have been well-received. Thanks ever so much for sticking by me and abiding my silliness (and laziness). You guys are amazing! ^3^
> 
> *~AI07~* :)


	7. Day 2: Operation B.O.F.U.R.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori initiates his plan, Bofur tells Bifur to step up his game, and everyone's favourite Hobbit and Dwarf bond over cups of tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Throws confetti and cookies in the air* Guess who's back! :D
> 
> When I received all your fantabulous comments saying that you were still interested in this fic as well my other ones, I was absolutely delighted and got to writing Chapter 7 straight away (thank you all again for sticking with me after all this time and for sending in your words of support, you're all treasures!). Of course, my laptop charger decided to rebel against me and die today, just as I was nearly finished with the chapter. :'O But luckily I managed to get it finished someplace else.
> 
> So, without further ado, here's the most delayed chapter update in the history of chapter updates. Enjoy! ^3^

_**Day 2**_ : _Continued._

 _**Evening period**_ _: Tonight, Nori laid out his betting plans which concerned our resolutions. Everyone had their doubts at first, but soon they were keen in joining the action (including Dori, although he doesn't really approve of gambling – he says that it's a common activity that pleases only common folk; upon asking why he lets Nori indulge in gambling, he said something about apples falling not too far from the tree). Óin's_ _**still** _ _miserable, whilst Fíli and Kíli are_ _**still** _ _exasperating (I wonder if Dwalin will_ _**actually** _ _go on watch with them tonight since he lost our race at the river). Bofur wants Bifur to up the ante, and as for Thorin and Bilbo … well, no one told me there was tea on this quest!_

– _Ori_

* * *

"Alrigh', lads, gather 'round! Come on, come on, sit down already! 'Ere, yer bunch of wallies, put the mockers on fannyin' about and _'urry up_! I ain't got all bloody night, y'know!"

"For Mahal's sake, Nori, must you be so loud?" Dori groaned. "Such a terrible habit, that is, raisin' your voice unnecessarily! Besides that, I don't want Master Baggins to hear any more of your crude talk."

Nori snorted derisively. "Leave it out, Dori. Master Baggins can't understand a word we're sayin'. We're speakin' in Khuzdûl, remember?"

He glanced in the direction of the cooking pot where Bilbo Baggins stood, preparing their supper for the night. Sitting by the camp-fire were Thorin Oakenshield and Gandalf. Propped on the former's lap was a map, one that had belonged to the dark-haired Dwarf's grandfather, Thrór. In the light of the fire, Thorin ran his ice-blue eyes over the map, taking in its details for the thousandth time. Without looking up from the parchment, he spoke softly to Gandalf, who replied in a similar manner whilst smoking on his pipe.

From where he was sitting, Nori could see with a foxy glint in his eyes that the Hobbit burglar, at first appearance, seemed to be quite preoccupied with his cooking, stirring the contents of the pot with much gusto. However, the slight cant of his head towards the leader of their company and the Wizard made it obvious that he was trying to listen in on their conversation.

_If 'e tries t'lean in any more further, 'e'll be sittin' pretty in Thorin's lap! And I don't fink tha' Thorin will want to go down south on anyfink but a map, let alone the chuffin' Hobbit._

Chuckling to himself, Nori added with a murmur, "No, I'd say 'e's too busy t'listen to the likes of us. Same goes fer Thorin."

The star-shaped-haired Dwarf glanced at his companions, who were now sitting in a circle on the grass, and he gave them all a sly grin.

"A shame, though, since 'e's missin' out on tonight's action …"

"What, you're goin' to let Glóin beat you up for our entertainment?" grumbled Óin, earning himself chortles from the other Dwarves (especially a loud one from his brother) and a glare from the thief, not that he cared for either at this moment. "Come on, Nori, get to the rud – er, I mean, _darn_ point. What did you call this meetin' for?"

"Keep yer 'air on, you silly ol' git," replied Nori, still glaring at the healer. "I'm gettin' there, ain't I?"

"You could be travelling on a horse and it would _still_ take you ages to get there," chimed in Fíli, snickering.

"Least _I'm_ taller enough t'ride an 'orse," was the withering retort."Yer more fit fer a jackass … and I ain't talkin' about yer bruvver."

Poor Fíli and Kíli, with angry flushes painted upon their cheeks, had to endure a round of laughter at their expense. Bilbo's attention momentarily shifted to his Dwarvish companions as they let loose with their guffaws, but soon he was back to eavesdropping on Thorin and Gandalf – he simply did not have the time, the patience nor the energy right now to make sense of their sharp, guttural language nor ask them to explain to him, in the common tongue, why they were in such merry spirits.

Instead of laughing, Dori was frowning, looking ready to lecture his younger brother, but ultimately he just shook his head and muttered something about "spendin' all my precious years tryin' to raise him good and proper, and he repays me by turnin' out so common – _Amad_ , have mercy on me."

Ori merely laughed along with the other Dwarves at his brother's humour. When he paused for breath, he remembered that he was, since this afternoon, still quite curious about what Nori was up to. So, when everyone started to quiet down, he piped up:

"Come on, Nori, what have you called us here for? You looked pretty excited when you said that you had something to tell us."

Perhaps I should explain: after the Company had their bath in the river and were all dressed, Nori – switching to Khuzdûl – addressed them as they mounted their ponies, saying: "Tonight, I'll be 'oldin' a meetin'. I 'ave sumfink that I want t'share wiv you lot. Be there or lose out."

Naturally, the Dwarves' collective curiosity was aroused when they heard the thief's words. They knew better than to listen to Nori, but they could not help themselves. _What was he going to tell them? What was he up to? Was he going to confess to stealing something since their resolutions had been placed upon them?_ Hence, after setting up camp for the night and the star-shaped-haired Dwarf called for them, they came to sit on the grass to hear what he had to say, although the sly grin he gave them earlier did little to soothe their temperaments.

"Aye, you better start talkin', Nori," said Dwalin, crossing his arms. "The sooner this business is out the way, the sooner we can eat supper."

Bombur nodded his head with all the enthusiasm of an earthquake, licking and smacking his lips at the thought of food. "Oh, do let's get on with it – I'm proper starvin' an' all! Go on, Bofur, tell Nori to get on with it!"

"If ye could all just whist yer traps for a minute, perhaps Nori can actually say somethin'," said Bofur in annoyance, plucking his sleeve out of Bombur's hold.

To himself, he mumbled, "By Mahal's sainted beard, if I couldn't deal with ye lot's yellin' when I was smashed, then I can't deal with ye lot's yellin' when I'm feckin' sober."

Having not heard that last part, Nori smiled at the behatted Dwarf before turning to his fellow comrades.

"Well, lads," he started, "the reason I've gathered you 'ere tonight is 'cause I wanted to put forward a proposal. Actually, righ', it's more like a _deal_ , one which you could all potentially stand t'benefit from."

Bifur immediately scowled at this.

" _I don't want to be involved in any deal of_ _ **yours**_ ," he growled.

Although he was still feeling sorely about the business with Óin's poem, Glóin begrudgingly agreed with Bifur, grunting, "The day I do deals with you, Nori, is the day my son marries an Elf: bloody well _never_."

"Hang about, sweethearts, let me explain what the deal is before you go on at me!" Nori protested. "It's got to do wiv our resolutions."

He paused.

"Moreover, righ', that incentives system that Gandalf came up wiv. Interested _now_?"

The Dwarves stared at him. Even Bifur and Glóin had their eyes on the star-shaped-haired Dwarf, their attention caught by the words "resolutions" and "incentives."

"And what, pray-tell, do you have in mind?" asked ( _surprisingly!_ ) Balin quietly.

Nori grinned for Middle Earth, his fox-like eyes glittering madly like stars.

"If I learnt anyfink from travellin' wiv this group of Dwarves, it's that you lot love t'have a go at bettin'," he answered. "An' don't you deny it now: you'd bet yer 'ole life-savings on a Warg race if you were given the chance!"

The Dwarves exchanged looks.

"Well, I suppose it's the easiest way to get money without having to work hard for it," remarked Kíli, biting down on his bottom lip.

"Lazy sod," Fíli muttered.

"Says the guy who lost a fair amount of coins to Óin when Master Baggins ended up coming along on the quest," hissed Kíli. "Wait until I tell _Amad_ …"

The golden-haired prince glowered at his brother. "One more witless word out of you, _nadadith_ , and I shall shave your beard off – oh wait, you don't _have_ one."

" _Gelek menu caragu rukhs!_ "

" _Gelek menu_ _ **shirumond**_ _caragu rukhs!_ "

"Why, you –!"

"Keep it up, you two, you're _thoroughly_ entertaining us with your infantile shenanigans," deadpanned Ori, causing the princes to pause in their bickering and look sheepishly in the scribe's direction.

"Suddenly I'm starting to regret giving you that resolution," mumbled Kíli.

"And _I'm_ startin' to appreciate that that resolution might have been a gift by Mahal himself," declared Dwalin, smirking.

"Uh, lads?" cut in Nori, his narrowed eyes switching from Thorin's nephews to his glowing brother and the bane (one of many) of his life, Dwalin. "Remember why the bloomin' 'eck we're 'ere? My DEAL?"

"So far, our resolutions and the incentives system have something to with our bettin' habits," said Óin gruffly. "Get on with it!"

"Righ'," affirmed the star-shaped-haired Dwarf with a nod ( _struth, Óin, testy much?_ ). "Basically, the deal boils down t'makin' bets on our resolutions. The way I spot it, righ', you lot make bets on 'oo's gonna break their resolutions, an' if y'score well, you'll get to earn a pretty amount of brass as _additional_ incentives besides the punishments y'get to dish out."

Nori pointed at himself.

"Me," he continued, "I'll be overlookin' the bets, settin' the odds and payin' out the winnings if y'score on yer bets – o' course, I _do_ cop to keep a small portion of the winnings _and_ make me own bets, if I please."

"You crooked bookie," Glóin snarled.

"It's an 'ard Uncle Bob, one that I'm jolly well not gonna do for kicks," argued the thief. "There's a bit of brass to be made on this deal, an' I'm not gonna miss out. And if I were _you_ lads, I'd cop in on the action, too."

There was a pause, allowing the Dwarves to digest what Nori had proposed to them.

"So the gist of this business," said Balin slowly, trying to make sense of it all, "is that we place bets on certain Dwarves whom we believe are most likely goin' to break their resolutions."

"Correct, Mister Balin," replied Nori in his best Gandalf-like voice.

"In return, the winners receive a payout in the form of coins that act as extra incentives, regardless if they actually get to perform a punishment or not on the Dwarf who broke their resolution," said Glóin, stroking his fiery beard in thought.

"That's correct, Glóin."

"You're goin' to be facilitatin' the bettin' process from payin' out winnings to settin' the odds and favours," said Dwalin, narrowing his eyes.

"Too righ', Dwalin."

"Yet _you'll_ be bettin' as well and takin' a small share of the winner's payout," concluded Dori, frowning as he placed his hands on his hips. "That's hardly cricket, Nori."

"Aye, 'cause I _'ate_ cricket."

"I meant that you're hardly playin' fair."

Nori grinned rather evilly at the eldest Ri. "If you want fairness, dear bruvver, we could always make _Ori_ the bookie …"

Dori blanched at the very suggestion. _Ori? Involved in gamblin'? Mahal forbid!_

"I … I think _you're_ more suitable for the role, Nori," he stammered. "I wouldn't want to take you out of your, uh, natural element."

The star-shaped-haired Dwarf patted his brother's shoulder affectionately, that grin too evil for even the most malevolent of beings in Middle Earth to bear. "Cheers, Dori. You know it makes sense."

The silver-haired Dwarf made incomprehensible mutterings under his breath. Balin sent a sympathetic look towards him, wishing to offer him a kind word like he did earlier at the river, but he refrained from doing so. After all, he did not want the others to sense that Dori was struggling with his resolution and then take advantage of that fact if they decided to join in on Nori's deal.

_I doubt he will cope with the pressure._

_Nevertheless, I promised to help him, and I will do just that._

_He could even help me with my_ own _resolution …_

Nori once again addressed his travelling companions. "So righ', those are basically the rules of the game. You lot stand t'gain a pretty penny if you accept the deal. Plus, it'll give you extra motivation t'stick to yer resolutions. And …"

Here, he lowered his voice to whisper, forcing the others to lean in.

"... although 'e ain't takin' part in this business, that don't mean you don't 'ave t'bet on Thorin."

" _Thorin_?" the Dwarves whispered, eyebrows raising. "We can bet on Thorin, too?"

"Leave it out, Nori," snorted Kíli. He made a small gesture towards the Dwarf king. "Didn't you see what happened today? Uncle and Bilbo went from being strangers to absolute bosom buddies in the space of 24 hours."

"Look, he might be incredibly chummy wiv Master Baggins all of a sudden," stated Nori, "but you know 'ow 'e is: 'e could change 'is mind at any minute. This time in the next two weeks, 'e could be on the 'obbit's case again."

"Aye, tha' he could," agreed Bofur, nodding. "One slip o' the tongue, and our leader could be back to actin' miserable towards our burglar. An' as the days go by, he might get more and more frustrated, what with handlin' the incomin' perils of our quest _and_ his resolution at the same time. Master Baggins, unfortunately, will come off as an easy target fer yer uncle's wrath."

"Yer righ' on the mark there, mate," remarked Nori with a grin. "So aye, yer Royal Highness, Thorin _can_ be betted on."

Dori's mouth was a thin line, but he said nothing ( _gawd,_ I _don't need to be analysed, either_ ).

"Sounds to me like Thorin's the winnin' horse to back," commented Óin thoughtfully.

The star-shaped-haired Dwarf turned to look at him. "Does that mean yer in?"

"Aye, I'm in," was the healer's reply.

He even managed to look smug as he added, "I'm lookin' forward to drainin' you and the others dry of your gold … _again_."

Before Nori and their kinsmen could cuss the deaf Dwarf out, Glóin interjected, saying, "Well, if my brother's wantin' to grab a piece of that action, then _I_ will do the same. I could do with a few extra coins in my purse."

" _If it means winning money off Nori, then I suppose this deal isn't all that bad_ ," chipped in Bifur. " _I'm in, too._ "

"Huh, I like _that_ idea," murmured Dwalin. "Count me in as well."

"It'll be a good distraction, I suppose," said Balin, who did not mind dabbling in a little gambling.

"Plus it'll be a good motivation to strengthen our self-control," added Dori. "That's the important thing."

Bofur, Bombur, Ori, Fíli and Kíli sounded their agreement. Delighted, Nori rubbed his hands again.

"Then that settles it, lads," he proclaimed. "From t'night onwards, the deal is on. Young Ori, mind you jot down them rules in yer journal later on, eh? Got t'have them written down somewhere in case one of these tossers forgets or buggers 'em up. Now, let's discuss the odds …"

For the next ten minutes or so, the 12 Dwarves went about making their wagers on the odds that Nori was coming up with (although money-orientated Glóin added his two cents in now and again when there were odds that needed clarifying or minute changes). Each member of the Company placed their bets privately with Nori, not only for fear of compromising their odds, but also they did not want to hear how big of a target they were in the eyes of their companions. Granted, they were free to discuss with each other afterwards who they were betting on, but otherwise they wanted to keep their precious information to themselves.

One by one, after discussing their respective bets with Nori, the Dwarves made their way to the cooking pot, where Bilbo served them their supper. Before they went off to join them, Bofur and Nori remained on the grass. The hat-wearing Dwarf smiled at the thief.

"Looks like yer plan is off to a good start," he said. "Good on ye."

"Cheers, Bof. An' thanks fer backin' me up earlier an' all."

"Yer welcome, partner."

Then Bofur frowned. He stole a glance at Bilbo, who was waiting on Bombur to tell him when to stop filling his bowl with stew.

"I just hope," he whispered, "tha' Thorin doesn't make a ruddy mess o' his resolution. I wouldn't enjoy seein' poor Master Baggins bearin' the brunt o' his anger since they seemed to get on rather well today. What a dunderheaded thing fer Thorin to do if it should come to pass."

Nori understood the miner's worries. But deep down, he was not sure if the new friendship between Thorin and Bilbo would last. They were far too different to gel together like, say, him and Bofur. The only reason that the Dwarf and the Hobbit's friendship was happening right now was because Gandalf put him up to it. Had there been no resolutions established, Thorin would still be keeping his distance from Bilbo Baggins.

Instead of saying these things to Bofur, however, Nori merely waved a dismissive hand.

"Let's just leave it up to them an' Mahal t'deal wiv, mate. For now …"

That maniacal smile returned.

"… I've got Operation B.O.F.U.R. to focus on."

"Operation _what_?" Bofur looked at Nori in surprise, a faint pink tinge appearing on his cheeks. " _B.O.F.U.R._? Ye don't mean to say tha' ye named this scam o' yers after _me_? What cheek ye got!"

"Betcha like that, eh?" responded Nori with a giggle. "It's brilliant!"

"Mahal help me, my legacy's come down to _this_ ," muttered the hat-wearing Dwarf, although he could not help but grin, his dimples appearing. "Mind ye, ye get used to it after a while. Operation B.O.F.U.R. …"

"Aye," agreed the star-shaped-haired Dwarf, his smile softening. "Operation **B** ettin' **O** n and **F** ****** **U** p **R** esolutions begins _now_."

* * *

After supper had finished, the Company began to chat and laugh with each other (as well as discuss their bets, if they felt the inclination). Bofur and Bombur were helping Bilbo with cleaning the bowls and the pot; Ori was busy writing in his journal; Fíli and Kíli went to check on the ponies and the supplies; Dwalin sharpened his axes, listening whilst Balin conversed with Thorin and Gandalf; Óin set about preparing a herbal remedy with Glóin as his (reluctant) assistant, and the rest of the brothers Ri were busy securing extra clips in their hair before they went to sleep later.

As for Bifur, he sat by the fire, the light of which was helping him to continue with his toy's progress. The axe-embedded Dwarf thoroughly enjoyed exercising his toy-making skills. There was something peaceful about carving a piece of wood into an object that could be played with by a delighted little child. No one one taught him how to make toys: he simply learnt how to on his own.

Like his father, Sivar, and his Broadbeam ancestors before him, he was a miner by trade. He had mined for gold, diamonds and other precious gems, all of which he had touched a thousand times over yet never actually possessed – his life was a poor one.

But on the other side of the coin, it was a happy one. He had Sivar and his mother, Brid, whom he loved and who loved him, and he adored his bright-eyed uncle Rofur and his wife Blithe. When his cousins Bofur and Bombur came along, Bifur did not think his heart could get any bigger, but it did, for he cared for the beardlings a great deal. Bombur was a smart lad, with a hearty appetite that could rival a Man's. Bifur coaxed him to pursue his studies in engineering, and he was proud to see him pass with flying colours.

Although Bofur had a penchant for mischief (not to mention his penchant for drinking as he grew into an adult), he idolised his older cousin, and he marvelled at the toys that he made for him; in fact, the hat-wearing Dwarf decided, whilst learning to become a miner, he wanted to make toys like his cousin as well. Despite Bifur's present condition and Bofur's work schedule, the two Dwarves sat for hours on end at home, carving and sanding and painting their creations to give to their loved ones – namely Bombur's brood – or to sell at local market stalls.

"One day we can open a little toy shop o' our own," Bofur once told him. "It'll be all ours, no one else's. Won't tha' be grand?"

An innocent dream, that's all it seemed to be.

When the call came to join Thorin Oakenshield's quest to reclaim Erebor, that dream seemed like a sure thing. The share of the treasure was great, and it would solve all their problems – and the idea of opening a toy shop with his cousin warmed Bifur's heart.

And when he discovered his One, Mahal knew that it warmed his heart even more …

Bifur's fingers stopped, and he could feel a blush creeping to his face.

_My One …_

Without a doubt, the other Dwarves – and the Hobbit – were surprised when they received their poems that morning. From where he was sitting, he watched the ways in which they reacted as they read their poems to Bilbo. Some were shocked, others were confused, and others …

_Others …_

_What did_ _**Dwalin** _ _think about his poem …?_

"Aw, bless ye, floatin' about in yer lovesick bubble like the happy tart ye are!"

Bifur's "lovesick bubble" burst immediately when he heard a familiar voice cooing in his ear. He looked up and saw a dimply grin and twinkling, topaz-blue eyes. Despite the sparkling expression that graced Bofurs' features, his axe-embedded cousin's mouth only contorted into a scowl.

" _How many times have I told you not to call me a "tart"?_ " he signed angrily. " _You're looking for a hiding._ "

"Rather tha' than a flask o' ale, if tha' pleases ye," Bofur flippantly replied. "Besides, ye love apple tarts with raspberry jam. Nice an' sweet … like _ye_."

" _You wouldn't want to be hit in the face with one, either._ "

The behatted Dwarf ignored the veiled threat. He sat down next to Bifur, still grinning that grin.

"Listen, Bif, I was actin' like a complete numpty this mornin', I admit," he said. "I didn't understand yer method, yer writin' poems to ten o' the lads, but I get it now. At least I now know from whom I inherited me devilry."

Bifur said – or signed – nothing, so Bofur went on.

"But now, I think ye need to step up yer game a wee bit. Tha' means ye'll have t'stop havin' all these fronts fer yer real One."

The other Dwarf shook his head.

" _I can slowly stop using each Dwarf as a front, but not immediately_ ," he signed. " _Certainly not at the same time, either, otherwise that defeats the purpose of the poems._ "

"Hmm, a fair point," Bofur conceded, surprising Bifur with his calmness. "Okay, if ye are wantin' to preserve the mystery for a while longer, I suppose ye can do what ye like. As long as ye keep up courtin' whoever yer One may be, then yer doin' right by yer resolution, but frankly, ye need to spice up yer act."

Bifur could not keep a grin from forming.

" _I can be spicy. I can get spicy whenever I want._ "

"Talk out o' yer arse as much as ye like – let's see ye actually _walk_ it out."

Here, the tips of Bifur's ears became red.

" _I meant in general_ ," he signed underhandedly. " _Not where my One is concerned …_ "

"Tha' is why they invented the word "try" fer jammy ol' tarts like _ye_ ," stated Bofur before getting up and hurriedly walking away before Bifur could try to throw his toy at his head.

* * *

The string was wound loosely around Thorin's fingers, strong in spite of its shoddy appearance. The key to which the string was attached was tucked into his palm, its silver surface catching the shards of dull moonlight. Its ornate yet simple design was incomparable, truly a fine example of Dwarven craft.

_How often the labour of my kin is taken for granted …_

He ran his thumb over the shaft, the etchings of the runes smooth beneath his touch. The words "Durin's Heir" formed on his lips.

_From my father and from his father, the beginning of the reclamation of my birthright._

With the key in his hand, Thorin Oakenshield felt closer to Erebor than he had been for a very long time. The map would lead him and his companions there, but the key would ultimately grant him the access he needed to enter the home of his people.

_Ered Luin has served her purpose._

The fabled wealth of his grandfather Thrór was lying in wait for him, lying in a cavern permeated by the foul stench of an overgrown snake. The very thought disgusted him, yet simultaneously it strengthened his resolve to reach that mountain. And although he did not have an army behind him, the enthusiasm, courage and passion displayed by his companions assured Thorin that he was wise to have chosen them to join him on this quest.

_And together, we shall take back our conquered paradise._

His eyes reflected the promising shine from the key.

_Erebor will be ours once more …_

"Excuse me, Thorin?"

Thorin was drawn out of this thoughts when he heard Bilbo Baggins' voice. A cup and saucer appeared in his vision, taking him back a little. He looked up at the holder, wearing a confused expression.

"What's this?" he asked.

Bilbo stared at him, as if the answer was obvious. "I thought you'd like a cup of tea before you went to bed."

As if to emphasise his point, a fount of steam arose from the tea-cup. In Bilbo's other hand, he held another steaming tea-cup and saucer.

The dark-haired Dwarf's eyebrow were pulled in.

"You made _tea_?" he asked, surprised. "How?"

"On the fire, of course. I suppose you were too deep in thought to have noticed."

The Hobbit gave the saucer a small jiggle. "Now please do take it, Thorin, my arm's beginning to ache."

Thorin did as he was told. Pocketing his key, he took the cup and saucer from Bilbo. It seemed to shrink in his hold, the porcelain pieces' dainty appearance becoming apparent. He peered into the cup, careful to mind out the way of the steam: the liquid was a reddish-brown colour. Sniffing, an aromatic scent shot up his nostrils, causing his nose to crinkle.

"I don't remember packing tea-bags when we were organising supplies," he murmured, his mouth in a funny shape.

"Oh no, they are _my_ tea-bags," Bilbo replied, carefully sitting down next to Thorin. "I brought them along in case anyone wanted tea. So far, there hasn't been a need for it … then again, no one knew I had them. Still, it wouldn't do to waste them."

He gestured towards the cups. "And these are my travelling porcelain tea-cups."

"Travelling porcelain tea-cups?" Thorin repeated, his voice almost flat.

"Oh yes, they belonged to my mother. Very useful for walking holidays and picnics. I was glad to have remembered them when I packed my bag for this venture."

"I'm surprised they were not the highest priority on your list of items to be packed," was the deadpan retort.

"Forgive me for not appearing amused," snarked Bilbo, taking a sip of his tea. He issued a pleased hum before saying, "Go on, Thorin, taste it. I didn't bring sugar, but it's quite sweet without it."

"I'll, uh, wait for it to cool down," replied Thorin, eyeing the liquid with dread.

Shaking his head to himself, he muttered, "Travelling porcelain tea-cups, take me now …"

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "Those are my mother's tea-cups that you're insulting under your breath, Mister Oakenshield."

"I was not insulting them," the Dwarf said, also rolling his eyes. "I just cannot fathom the idea of travelling porcelain tea-cups."

"Well, travelling porcelain tea-cups or plain, they're still quite precious to me," declared Bilbo with a proud smile. "Mother used them extensively when she was out and about. She'd pack about three meals' worth of food in total, plus these tea-cups, for when she went on her little travels."

The Hobbit burglar sighed wistfully. "She was a free spirit in her own way – I suppose that comes with being a Took."

"A Took?"

"Yes, a Took."

Bilbo caught Thorin's bemused stare, and he sighed again, albeit out of partial annoyance.

"Before my mother married my father, Bungo Baggins, she was Belladonna Took," he explained. "The Tooks are famous in the Shire. Exceedingly rich, slightly eccentric and above all, notoriously adventurous. Not everyone in the Shire thought them a dab respectable, but they're still quite powerful. It's just their Tookish qualities that paints them as unusual."

He chuckled. "You could say … they're weren't everybody's _cup of tea_."

Another chuckle as Thorin gave a groan. "I think Fíli and Kíli's humour is woefully rubbing off of you, Bilbo," he remarked.

Before Bilbo could respond to that statement-cum-smart remark, the dark-haired Dwarf spoke again:

"And so, it is from this stock that _you_ , Bilbo Baggins, sprung forth. Having explained to me what a Took was, I wouldn't think you were one, judging from the moment I met you until this very second. You hardly seem to possess their qualities."

Bilbo shrugged. "Maybe as a child, I was a bit more outgoing and curious. As I grew older, I took after my father. He was respected well enough, as the Baggins family has a sterling reputation. If the Shire-folk were to catch me, the Master of Bag End, acting Tookish, my reputation would be shot to pieces."

A sheepish look crossed his features as he peered into his cup. "Although I bet I've set tongues wagging after running out of Hobbiton to catch up with you lot," he thought aloud.

"How un-Baggins-ish you must have felt when you changed your mind," observed Thorin, smiling a little.

His Hobbit companion took another sip of his tea before answering.

"That I did," he revealed. "One doesn't simply run out of the Shire to go treasure-hunting, especially if one happens to be a Baggins."

"Neither does a Dwarf from the Blue Mountains, yet here we both are."

"Yes, we are …"

A pause. Then, Bilbo shrugged his shoulders.

"Except _you_ didn't have to do much running," he said, "if not any running at all."

"I'll concede to that," the Dwarf replied.

"That, and you're a king. You have your reasons for leaving your home behind."

Thorin Oakenshield's eyes glimmered faintly as he made his response:

"And you, Master Baggins, are half a Took. You also have your reasons for leaving _your_ home behind, even though it might have gone against your Baggins nature."

 _Hmm, that's a fair point_ , thought Bilbo. _Something odd came about me that morning when I flew out of my front gate. Had my father, bless his soul, seen me running out into the wilderness and possibly sudden death, he would have shook his head and muttered one of his wise old sayings._

 _Or maybe he would have compared me to_ _**her** _ _…_

Bilbo coughed, clearing his thoughts. "So, uh, are you going to have a sip of that tea now?"

The glimmer in Thorin's eyes instantly faded.

"I suppose I must," he stammered.

Blowing away the steam, Thorin lifted the cup to his lips, feeling Bilbo's eyes on him as he took a large gulp, enough to drain the cup dry. The tea was hot, burning his tongue, although his taste buds managed to survive as he registered the liquid's sweetness. It was too cloying for his taste, but he did not want to offend the burglar if he told him so. Swallowing the tea down, Thorin gave the smaller creature a nod – not a very convincing one, in my opinion, but Bilbo seemed satisfied enough.

"If you ever want me to make tea for you again, you can always ask," Bilbo told him.

"I'll, er, keep your gracious offer in mind," Thorin mumbled.

_When I have exhausted all my drinking options, I might take you up on it._

He passed his cup and saucer to the Hobbit. "Thank you for the tea. It was very kind of you to make it for me."

Bilbo nodded. "It's a pleasure. And thank _you_ for the conversation. You know, you're an awfully good listener … when you're not doing all the talking or simply not saying anything."

Thorin's eyes rolled towards the heavens for the second time that evening. "That is what friends are supposed to do, correct? To listen?"

"Yes, that's exactly what they do," murmured Bilbo, smiling faintly. "Friends … and to think that yesterday, we were far from being friends. Today, from the poems to the bathing to here and now, I feel as if you and I are doing quite well in that area."

The dark-haired Dwarf nodded.

"As I told you this morning, Bilbo, I'll do my utmost to make up for my previously poor behaviour towards you," he promised. "Yesterday – from the moment I met you at your home that night, actually – I have sorely mistreated you. Now that we've started our relationship anew, I wish to maintain the good terms that we find ourselves on. And who knows? Maybe we will end up becoming _best_ friends."

The Hobbit laughed softly, a merry sound for Thorin and all those in range to hear. "That's something to build towards."

He glanced at the tea-cups and saucers. For some reason, they reminded him of his home in the Shire. His home, where he could be his own master, and where he could sit outside with a pipe in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. From the bench outside his door, he had the perfect view: the rolling hills, the emerald-green grass of the fields, the scattering of well-maintained flower mounds, and the tall trees reaching towards the blue heavens …

_So far away from home …_

… _and yet tonight … I feel as if I'm closer to the Shire than I've ever been in weeks …_

The bass timbre of Thorin's voice was soft, almost like a whisper, but it drew Bilbo out of this thoughts when he said:

"Maybe you inherited something more than just travelling porcelain tea-cups from your mother, Bilbo."

The Hobbit's eyes met the Dwarf's blue gaze, curiosity blooming across his face.

"And what would that be, Thorin?" he inquired, equally soft.

The Dwarf king smiled warmly now.

"Her spirit," he answered.

What he said, and the way in which he said it, sent a surge of warmth throughout Bilbo's body. It lingered in his chest, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. It even settled in his cheeks.

 _Sweet blessed lady Yavanna, don't tell me I'm blushing in front of Thorin –_ _**again**_ _! Upon my long-suffering soul, I've probably turned every shade of red and pink in the space of two days! If I start turning blue, then I know I've been everything from carmine to cerise!_

"Tell me something, Thorin," responded Bilbo, praying to whoever was listening to please return his apple-like cheeks to its normal shade. "Do you … do you think that's a bad thing, or a good thing?"

Thorin shrugged his broad shoulders.

"Depends on if _you_ see it as a bad thing or a good thing," he replied.

Bilbo glanced at the cups and saucers again.

_His father's son in looks, his mother's son in nature …_

"Then for my sake," he whispered, more to himself than Thorin, "I hope that it's a good thing."

Feeling his fingers around the key in his pocket, the runes becoming prominent beneath his finger-tips, the dark-haired Dwarf made a similar wish.

_Through me, my father and my grandfather's spirits live. I hope to honour them accordingly._

_But if my grandfather's sickness takes its hold on me …_

Thorin Oakenshield did not dare to think any further than that.

* * *

Gandalf watched as Bilbo and Thorin went their separate ways after their after-supper tea. The Hobbit went to wash his mother's cups and saucers before going to lie down in his bed-roll. The Dwarf exchanged a few words with Fíli and Kíli as they were about to take first watch, and then he, too, retired to his bed-roll for the night.

Suffice to say, the Wizard was pleased that the two were getting along swimmingly. They were getting on as if they had known each other for years instead of a few weeks. He was rather proud of Thorin for stepping up to the plate and taking the time to engage with the company burglar … not that he was going to tell him, dear goodness me, no. Nevertheless, that he was at last making an effort made the taller being thrilled.

_And we have my little project to thank for it._

_Still, I wouldn't mind partaking in Nori's betting scheme. I could do with some more entertainment and coins. Confound him twice over for not telling me about tonight's meeting!_

Gandalf relit his pipe, took a drag and blew out several smoke-rings into the night air. The stars in the sky shone bright – privately, the Wizard was convinced that somewhere up there, beyond those luminous pin-points, Belladonna was smiling down upon her son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amad - Mother.  
> Whist yer traps - Irish slang for "Shut your mouths."  
> Nadadith - Little brother.  
> Gelek menu caragu rukhs! - You smell like orc dung!  
> Gelek menu shirumond caragu rukhs! - You smell like beardless orc dung! (Yup, Fíli and Kíli keep it classy, alright.)  
> It's an 'ard Uncle Bob - Cockney slang for "It's a hard job."
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this update, and that it wasn't too disappointing (I dunno why I felt so awfully proud of myself for having come with "Operation B.O.F.U.R."). I know nothing about the betting business, but you know, I'll wing it to the best of my ability (ie. make it up as I go along). The betting odds and whatnot will appear in the next chapter.
> 
> Also, I'm not completely sure if Thorin would like tea. He'd probably be less miserable if he drank more of it. XP
> 
> Let me know what you think in the commentatos below! And again, thank you so, so, SO much for sticking by this story and the others after I've been away from the fandom, and for giving me the opportunity to write more for you ducklings! *Huggles everyone tightly forever and a day* Let's see if I can update "A Babysitter's Dozen" and "About Last Night" as quickly as I updated TRP.
> 
> *~AI07~* :)


	8. Day 3: Conversations Of A Betting Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fíli and Kíli plot, Balin and Dori plan, and an apology is made, albeit underlined by gratuitous snarking. On an unrelated note, Ori likes Dwalin's smiles.

**_Day 3:_** _The third day of Gandalf's resolutions project has commenced, with both the incentives system and Nori's betting order in effect. What this order entails is this: simply bet on the Dwarves who you believe will most likely break their resolutions. If those Dwarves fail to uphold them, you stand to win – if **you're** the one who gave them those resolutions, then you get to punish them in accordance with the incentives system. Nori also gets a share of the winner's payout (I'm not sure that's even legal, but my brother seems to know what he's doing … I hope)._

 **_Morning period_** _:_ _Gandalf reckons that we are getting close to the Ettenmoors (and frankly, it sounds like a horridly dodgy place). Everyone's fairly subdued, although I dare say that Fíli and Kíli looked suspiciously_ _**odd** _ _after breakfast. Dori's trying his hardest to not crack under pressure (that, and he's not one for cold weather – if only he took a bottle of wine on this quest!), and Óin seems to be less miserable. Let's see what the_ _**rest** _ _of the day brings us!_

 _ **NB** : Have I written about how nice Dwalin looks when he smiles? And how _ _**warm** _ _those smiles are? Just an observation. Even though I have mentioned it already. A "second mention", like he said to me earlier … **why** am I going on about Dwalin and his smiles?!_

_\- Ori._

* * *

Breakfast was a short affair the next morning. The Company sat together with their bowls of porridge, eating at a rapid pace: despite the hot weather from the previous day, the grey sky and a frosty chill in the air suggested that rainfall was on the way. According to Gandalf, it was a sign that they were nearing the Ettenmoors, which would take about five or six days to reach.

"Not that I'm looking forward to going _there_ ," he added, shuddering. "It's a grim and wild landscape that's home to despicable creatures … that it was once a proud and peaceful region is the bigger shame."

The Dwarves hardly looked excited about going to the Ettenmoors, either. And going _through_ it was another story! To take their minds off their next destination, they concentrated on their porridge bowls. Although he had become accustomed to eating the same meal every day for breakfast, Bilbo wished – and not for the first time – that he could eat something else.

_What I would give for a plate of kippers. Mm, yes, smoked kippers with scrambled eggs on the side, beans on toast, hot butter scones with lashings of honey, and –_

"Master Baggins, may I take your bowl?"

"Hmm?"

The Hobbit looked up and saw Kíli's smiling face looking down at him. His hand was outstretched towards him.

"Fíli and I volunteered to wash the bowls," he said. "I don't mind taking yours, if you're already finished."

"How awfully kind of you, Kíli," replied Bilbo, handing over his bowl. "I must admit, I'm quite surprised that you two volunteered for the job. The last time you both were on dish-washing duty, one of you somehow broke one of the pans … a _cast-iron_ pan. Clear in half, it was broken."

"It was an old pan anyway," retorted Kíli with a dismissive wave before turning on his heels and walking off to help Fíli collect the rest of the bowls.

Bilbo sighed, twisting a copper curl around his fingers.

"If it had been one of _my_ pans, regardless of its state, I'd be upset if it got broken," he muttered.

Thorin Oakenshield, who was sitting next to him, raised an eyebrow.

"Then I dare not think what you would do if they had to break one of your mother's tea-cups," he commented wryly.

"Dear goodness, perish the thought!" the Hobbit cried. Upon seeing the glimmer in the dark-haired Dwarf's eyes, he frowned. "Must you be a frightful tease, Thorin?"

"Not intentionally, and especially not a frightful one."

Bilbo merely shook at his head at him. He watched as Fíli and Kíli carried the bowls to one side of the camp to wash them. They sat closely together, speaking to each other in hushed voices as they went about the business. If they had been Hobbits, Bilbo was sure they would perfectly fit the Tookish mould. Mischievous, adventurous and knavish, the two young princes hardly lived up to their titles unless the situation called for them to take on an air of self-importance – or not. More often than not, their hijinks raised a lot of ire amongst their companions. Older Dwarves like Dwalin, Balin and Óin were usually the first ones to complain about them, and whilst Thorin did always try to keep a firm hand on them, his nephews managed to escape from his proverbial grip on more than one occasion.

_I do believe that no one could ever match these two in terms of rascality._

_But now that they're suddenly being decent … well, even_ I _can trust them to wash dishes without incident. Not enough to let them wash my own dishes back at Bag End, what with their throwing them about after showing up at my doorstep, but at least they won't be acting out of sorts this time around._

_Still, the way they're huddled together and conversing in so quiet a manner makes me wonder if they're up to no good …_

* * *

"I've got to tell you, Kíli, you actually had a good idea for once."

"I _always_ have good ideas, Fíli – you just never acknowledge them. Besides, this was the only way we can talk more about our bets without the others getting suspicious."

Fíli snorted. "As if _us_ voluntarily washing dishes wouldn't make them suspicious. At least our resolution is protecting us a little."

"Oh, the irony," deadpanned Kíli.

The brothers paused in their cleaning and dared to look over their shoulders. The Company was packing up their bed-rolls and their other belongings. Gandalf was busy brushing Florian, and he even gave the pony a sugar cube that he took out of his pocket.

Turning their attention back to the bowls, Fíli wiped one bowl dry as he said, "So last night, when we were on first watch, we discussed on who we had placed our highest bets."

"Aye, we did," affirmed Kíli. "You and I both whittled it down to Dwalin as our main target – er, gamble."

The golden-haired prince grinned. "The beauty of Dwalin's resolution is that we can get away with our annoying him without him snapping at us. That's if we don't make it obvious that we're annoying him, otherwise Balin and Óin _will_ have our heads on platters."

Kíli nodded.

"We can milk it for all it's worth," continued Fíli, "and when Dwalin _does_ finally snap, we'll not only get some money out of it, but _I_ get to give him his punishment. Mahal knows that thinking about what Dwalin's face will look like when he realises that I can do whatever I like to him is too funny!"

His brother snickered. "He'll be absolutely livid with himself for breaking his resolution, we'll get our winnings and some entertainment, and nobody will put the blame on us! It's brilliant!"

Then his snickering came to a halt. Awareness filled his eyes like water flowing into two dark pools.

"But there's one hitch," he added.

Fíli's grin fast became a frown.

"Ori," he flatly stated.

Again, they glanced behind them, their eyes falling on the scribe in question. Kneeling down on the ground, he was folding his bed-roll and, needless to say, was making a terrible hash of it. Dori, who stood a little further away, pretended not to notice, but the way he stood in a ready position made it obvious that he would come rushing to his brother's aid if he needed help. But before Ori gave up on his folding attempts completely, Dwalin strolled over to him. He wore an amused smile.

"Need a hand, lad?" he asked. "Or two?"

Ori looked up at him, his head cocked to the side. "Am I struggling _that_ badly?"

"Let's just say, you'd have better luck takin' down a Troll than foldin' a bed-roll properly," answered Dwalin.

The youngest Ri crossed his arms, feigning huffiness.

"Better luck than _you_ , perhaps?" he asked in a mock-haughty tone. "After all, you did say that cutting Fíli and Kíli down to size is considered the equivalent of killing a Dragon in your book."

The bald warrior Dwarf chuckled. "A book in which only a few are mentioned. Makin' a shoddy foldin' job of your bed-roll will certainly not get you a second mention."

"That's hardly a kind thing to say, Dwalin," said Ori, again in a mock-haughty tone.

Dwalin's smile radiated warmth. "That's why I'm offerin' to help you, Ori."

He knelt down besides the scribe. "Here, this is how it goes …"

Fíli and Kíli watched their second-cousin folding up Ori's bed-roll for a few seconds before they turned back to looking at each other.

"Ori's the one thing that's standing between us and Dwalin," whispered Fíli. "Ever since he's been given his resolution, he's been acting like a tough nut – and he's good at it."

" _Too_ good," grumbled Kíli. "I haven't forgiven him for pushing us into the river, the tricky sod."

"He stuck up for Dwalin on the first day, and he hasn't let up against us since," muttered Fíli darkly. "There's got to be a way to stop him."

"If only there was a way of tweaking resolutions, then I'd change his," the dark-haired prince groaned, feeling sorry for himself. "All I wanted was for Ori to toughen up a little, not to go full-on brutal on us. I'm amazed that Dori hasn't exploded yet –"

" _That's it!_ "

"What's it?"

" _Dori's_ the answer!"

"Shh! Keep your voice down, for Mahal's sake!" hissed Kíli, scared of attracting the others' attention. "What do you mean Dori's the answer? To what?"

"To our problem, nitwit," was the golden-haired prince's reply. "Look, our next highest bet after Dwalin was Dori, because he's far more likely to crack seeing Ori trying to stand on his own two feet. Right?"

"Right," agreed his brother, although he did not looked pleased about being called a nitwit. "If you hadn't given Dwalin his resolution, we'd be focusing on Dori instead of him."

"Well, it looks like we'll have to divide our focus …"

The mischief that had begun to brew in Fíli's eyes were reflected by Kili's own orbs.

"What do you have in mind, Fíli?" the younger brother inquired, almost purring.

"The way I see it," the older Dwarf explained, "is that the more we rag on at Dwalin, the more Ori is liable to have a go at us. And believe you me, that will ruffle Dori's feathers something fierce. When it gets too much for him, he'll go after Ori, and that'll leave Dwalin without a shield. We'll be collecting double the amount of winnings once Dwalin and Dori break their resolutions, and Ori will be off our backs for a while."

"That sounds like a cracking plan," Kíli declared, chirping up. "Good thing no one else has thought of it."

"I wouldn't put it past Nori to carry out something similar," Fíli reflected. "Bookies make more money when the favourites fail to win. With Nori on the take, and him keeping track of the odds and favours, I bet he's got a good sense of who's going to succeed and fail; he'll be making a fair bit of coin on the losers, but he'll be rolling in it when he takes a small share of the winnings. It's all very fishy."

"Think he might have sabotage up his sleeve?"

"Maybe. But you know how it goes: it takes one to know one when there's sabotage afoot … and it takes _two_ of a kind to fight back."

Kíli's lips curled into a toothy grin. "Looks like a little disruption is needed down Nori's way as well," he murmured.

Fíli nodded. "Oh most definitely. Him, Dwalin, Ori and Dori …"

A pause.

"… it's going to be a bloodbath."

* * *

In several minutes, Balin had packed up his share of the camping equipment – and "by his share of the camping equipment", it was really his belongings and his bed-roll ( _all the heavy liftin' and supply checkin', I'll leave to the younger lads. A pity that such a character-buildin' experience has yet to leave an impression on them_ ). He strapped them to his pony Minty before his attention was caught by something moving in the corners of his eyes.

Turning to the side, he saw Dori doing the same thing as he had done. The silver-haired Dwarf was muttering lowly under his breath; his words were not clear, heard only by the ears of his pony, Delilah, who – if it were possible for a pony to bear human emotions – looked thoroughly exasperated by her rider's grumblings.

_If there ever was animal that strongly resembled Nori at this moment …_

"You are well this morning, Dori?" Balin asked out loud.

Dori stopped what he was doing, turning to face the advisor. He bowed his head.

"I'm well enough, Mister Balin, thank you for askin'," he replied. "And yourself?"

"As well as one can be, thank you," responded the other Dwarf, coming closer. "Although your mutterin' under your breath there seems to negate the idea that you are well."

His eyes drifted to Dori's hand, which was wrapped around Delilah's reins. It clenched tightly around the leather after he finished his response.

"I might be a little crabby this morning, but that's expected when there are signs of an incomin' deluge," he said, trying to sound hearty. "Myself, I'm not one for cold weather. Bein' indoors with a warm fire and a glass of wine would be preferable, but we shouldn't complain. We chose to go on this quest, and if it means sacrificin' creature comforts, then so be it. It's all in Mahal's hands now."

"… you really _are_ bothered by something, aren't you, Dori?"

Dori wisely loosened his grip on the reins before he could give it a harsh pull.

"Am I that obvious?" he asked.

"A wee bit," answered Balin, "but it's only noticeable when you're frettin' about Ori."

The eldest Ri sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Gawd, I'm tryin' my damndest to not let my concern show. The lad makes the act of foldin' a bed-roll a way to cry out to me for my help. And the way he's begun to address people now, how he spoke to the princes last night and to Dwalin a few minutes go – my mother must be spinnin' a thousand times over in her grave, bless her poor soul."

 _And it probably doesn't help that Dwalin is eggin' him on_ , Balin thought. _He has good intentions, but his kind of firmness isn't something that Ori should model his new-found self-assertiveness after. It wouldn't fit his character at all, meek little thing that he is, and it may rub people the wrong way. It might just serve to get him into trouble. I need to have a word about it with that brother of mine._

"I can only thank my lucky stars that Ori hasn't said or done anything thus far that will tempt me to assist him," Dori continued, slightly downcast. "If that shall ever come to pass … I don't believe anything can stop me."

Balin shook his head, saying, "The more you say it, the more you will come to believe it."

"Ah, Mister Balin, for a moment I forgot that you will be helpin' me," said Dori, a small smile appearing on his lips. "You're to help me – how did you phrase it? – conquer my fussiness. Are you still holdin' to that promise?"

Balin smiled now, too.

"I didn't say anything about breakin' it off, did I?" he replied. "Our conversation at the river yesterday wasn't meant to be a distraction: I truly meant what I said, that I would help you keep to your resolution as much as I possibly can."

He paused, choosing his next words carefully.

"In return," he appended, "I hope that you can do the same for me."

Dori blinked.

"You mean you want _me_ to help _you_ to keep to your resolution?" he asked.

"Aye," answered Balin, fiddling with the fingers of his gloves. "I think it will do me in good stead if I have someone watchin' out for me … and _you_ , Dori, are the best one out of this lot who can help me in this regard."

"But … but I think you're doin' wonderfully," stammered the silver-haired Dwarf. "I don't see why you need anyone to help you when you're holdin' up quite well, Mister Balin."

Again, the advisor shook his head. "I've come dangerously close to breakin' my resolution many times. If you had heard me speakin' to Thorin last night after he was done speakin' to Gandalf, you would be surprised that I didn't utter a negative word."

"You're a strong one, Mister Balin," commented Dori. He flushed as Balin stared straight at him.

"But you're even stronger, Dori," he countered. "That's why I need your help."

"I … uh …" Dori mumbled, not knowing what words to form and say. It was a known fact that he was incredibly strong, perhaps even stronger than Dwalin. But in addition to his physical strength, he was also strong in terms of his emotions, whether it was keeping them in check or to use them to emphasise his characteristics. He cut a strong figure all around.

He _had_ to be strong. For his brothers.

_When our mother passed away, it was up to me to keep my brothers and me together. I had to be the strong one because her death touched them deeply. They worshipped her to the end – after she was gone, it was as if Nori was cut off from the rest of us. And Ori …_

_Ori … hidin' away in his room … asleep over his notebooks, the pages damp with tears …_

" _I want her back …"_

"Dori?" Balin's voice was quiet, almost a whisper. "I may have a way of helpin' you with your resolution, if you'd like to hear it."

"What may it be?" questioned the eldest Ri, trying not to stammer this time.

"Well," the other Dwarf explained, "what I suggest is this: should you ever find yourself gettin' the urge to fuss over Ori, I want you to come to me."

"I'm sorry? Come to you?"

"Let me make it clearer: if, for example, Ori looks as if he is in need, or he says something that doesn't sit well with you, I want you to get up immediately and come over to me. I could be talkin' to Thorin or goin' about my own business, but the moment I see you walking towards me, I will drop everythin' and receive you. From that point onwards, I shall distract you."

"Distract me? How?"

Balin twirled a beard hair. "By you distractin' _me_."

Dori was befuddled, and it showed as much in his face. This prompted Balin to go on.

"When you come to me, I want you to start talkin' to me. You can talk about dogs, you can talk about flowers … clothes, jewels, herbs, the habits of Hobbits … _anything_ you like, and you can tell me about it. The only thing you can't talk about is Ori, unless you want to delve into your family's history, otherwise he's non-discussable.

"So long as you talk to me, it will take your mind off Ori," concluded Balin. "More so your wantin' to fuss over him."

Dori gazed at him.

"You'll be willin' to listen to me?" he asked.

"I assure you that I will," swore the white-haired Dwarf. "I've had, uh, good practice."

"Comes with bein' an advisor, I suppose," murmured Dori, beginning to smile. "One has to be a good listener to do that job."

He bowed his head once more.

"I will most certainly take your advice," he said. "I thank you for helpin' me along on this here project of Gandalf's, Mister Balin. It's assurin' to know that there is someone lookin' out for me when I'm not lookin' out for myself."

Balin bowed his head in turn. "You're welcome. And I thank _you_ for performin' the same favour for me. Although, Dori … may I ask you to do another favour for me?"

"Another favour? Whatever could it be?"

"Just call me Balin. No need for this "Mister" business. It's just plain Balin."

"Balin …" whispered Dori, as if it were the first time that he was uttering his name. "I'll do my best to remember."

"When you need me, you will."

* * *

 "Are you still mad at me?"

"Eh? What are you talkin' about, laddie?"

Glóin shuffled his feet. "About what happened at the river yesterday."

Óin looked at his brother for five long seconds before he sighed.

"What happened yesterday is all behind me," he replied. "I'd thank you to not bring it up again."

"But you could still be mad at me," mumbled Glóin, casting his eyes down at the ground. "You didn't exactly take it easy on me last night when I was helpin' you with one of your latest concoctions."

To Óin, the fiery-haired Dwarf looked like a guilty, sorrowful child who was expecting admonishment. For anyone who knew him, they would be surprised to see him acting this way. They were used to him being gruff, shrewd and volatile. Of course, Glóin would all but melt when he was in the presence of his wife. Nidhi was a renowned beauty, and she had her husband wrapped around her little finger. Why, he would dig in the deepest mines for the biggest diamond in the world if she asked him to.

When their son, Gimli, was born, Glóin was adoring and proud (he practically wept during his birth), and he swore to protect him with all his being. His temper would flare, however, if he felt that Nidhi and Gimli were being threatened, and he was not afraid to lash out if it meant protecting his family from harm. Otherwise, it was only when he was around them that he dropped his hot-blooded exterior.

But now, he looked far from hot-blooded. A part of Óin thought his brother was just being silly; the rest of him felt a mixture of guilt and pity.

"Well, I didn't mean to take out my frustrations on you," the healer said softly. "I was in a bad place, and you just happened to be there at the wrong time. I'll try not to let my moodiness get in the way again."

Glóin stared at him in silence.

Another sigh from Óin.

"That means I'm not mad at you anymore, _nadadith_ ," he stated.

The fiery-haired Dwarf let out a deep breath.

"That's a feckin' relief," he said. "I don't like it when you're mad at me. You can be right vicious when you're mad."

"Even when I'm mad for the right reasons?" his older brother asked, raising a knowing eyebrow.

"Alright, so I _do_ deserve the treatment half the time," answered Glóin, biting his inner cheeks to prevent an oncoming blush. "But yesterday I was in the right … sort of. I was only concerned for you."

"I know," said Óin, pulling on a red braid reassuringly. "Actin' like an ass is your way of showin' it."

"It's the only way to deal with you when you're actin' like an ass as well," was the quick-fire retort.

The healer chortled. "You're lucky I'm not mad anymore, otherwise I would have sworn you out for your cheekiness."

"Then I thank Mahal that your resolution won't permit you to do such a thing."

A groan. "Don't remind me. Gawd, I'm hopin' that Dori will break his resolution soon, just so that I can have a laugh at him. He looked feckin' smug for the stars after he gave me mine."

"He's your highest bet, isn't he?" Glóin asked. "Nori's mine. He won't last, I can tell you right now."

"Aye, he's also one of mine. First it's Dori, and then it's those two delinquent second-cousins of ours. Bofur and Bombur are tied for third, then it's Nori, Ori, Dwalin, Balin, and finally you."

" _Me_? You'd bet on your own brother?"

"Come off it, _nadadith_ , it's every Dwarf for himself," chided Óin. "And I wouldn't put it past _you_ to bet on me, either."

Glóin scowled, although he did mutter "Maybe" under his breath.

Óin nodded. "Aye, that's the order of my bets. I'm sure to get plenty of gold out of this venture."

"What about Thorin?"

"Hmm?"

"I thought you were goin' to bet on Thorin," said the fiery-haired Dwarf, puzzled. "You said last night that he was the winnin' horse to back or something like that."

Óin grinned.

"That's what I would have you believe," he purred slyly. "You, and everyone else, for that matter. I'm sure he ranges quite highly amongst this lot's bets, if not their number one bet, but not for me. I'm not bettin' a single coin on him."

Glóin was beyond perplexed now. The financial workings of his mind told him that Óin's order of bets – based on the likelihood of the others breaking their resolutions – was bound to win him some gold, and plenty of it. But it could not comprehend why his brother left Thorin Oakenshield out of his bets entirely. If his calculations were anything to go by, the royal Dwarf was at a heavy risk of violating his resolution.

_I could somewhat understand if he was lower down in the order, but leavin' him out altogether is bewilderin'!_

"Don't you think he'll break his resolution, Óin?" he queried.

Óin shook his head.

"I don't think so," he answered. "Look, I will admit that I had to think about it a great deal – you know, the risks, the likelihood, all of that shi – er, _nonsense_. The way Nori and Bofur were goin' on about it, it did make me consider bettin' on Thorin."

He paused, loosening a braid in his beard.

"But you know something, laddie?" he murmured. "I've watched Thorin spend time with the Halfling since yesterday. They're nothin' alike: Thorin is Thrór's grandson down to a T – full of stubbornness and pride with a hard head that you could crack nuts against. Master Baggins … well, "namby pampy" is too strong a phrase to describe him, but he's got an uptight, pernickety nature about him. Hardly the kind of characteristics you would find in a world-class burglar. You wouldn't think that two people like them could ever mix.

"And yet … for the first time on this journey, they were gettin' along. It staggered me, because when Thorin makes his mind up about something, he sticks to it. I didn't think he would change his opinion about Master Baggins. But then he proved me wrong by simply engagin' in civil small talk with him yesterday mornin' – if that wasn't enough, then them sittin' next to each other at breakfast proved as much to me that Thorin was thinkin' differently about the Halfling! Now that he's determined to improve their relations, I've no doubt in my mind that he will stick to this new mindset this time 'round."

Glóin absorbed his brother's words. It made sense, but he personally had his doubts.

"I'll take your word for it," he said. "But what if you're wrong?"

The grey-haired Dwarf rolled his eyes. "In the unlikely event that I'm wrong, then I'll need a good kick in the jambags."

Glóin snorted. "I'd love to do the honours."

"That's if you can ever lift up one of your legs, let alone both of 'em."

Thankfully for Óin, he put down his ear-trumpet in time just as Glóin unleashed a symphony of swear words. When he was done, the healer raised his trumpet again and tutted, "You're lucky that our parents aren't around to hear you speak like that. They would have smacked you in the mouth."

"They should've cut yours off a long time ago," grumbled Glóin. "You swear enough for the Durin branch combined."

Suddenly, a thought hit him.

"Here, Óin," he said. "You left Bifur out of your bets, too. Not bettin' on him, either?"

Óin stiffened. He bit down on his bottom lip.

"I'd rather not," he answered meekly. "There's a one in 10 chance to correctly guess who his One could be. It's a big risk that I'm not willin' to take."

Glóin blinked.

"So you don't know who it could be?"

"No, I don't. And I'm not plannin' to dwell on it, either."

"If you get it right, think of how much money you could earn."

"I'm content with what I stand to gain from my other bets. Those are my only concerns and nothin' more."

It was clear from the sound of his voice that Óin was starting to get agitated over their conversation, so Glóin wisely decided to back off.

"I've finished my packin'," he informed the other Dwarf. "Do you want me to help you with yours?"

Tension quickly easing out of his body, Óin was relaxed to the point that he offered his brother a smile.

"No, _nadadith_ , I can manage," he replied. "You go off and irritate Nori or something – give us some entertainment before we set off on the road again."

The fiery-haired Dwarf left his brother to his own devices. He passed by the brothers Ur and their cousin. Bombur was chewing on the stem of a jewelweed that Bifur had offered him; Bofur was picking out bits of fluff from the trimming of his hat; Bifur was carefully packing away a wooden toy creation that he had been busy on for the last couple of days. His gentle ways were not readily apparent, given his wild tendencies, but he was a likeable fellow when you got to know him.

Still, it was not enough to soothe Glóin's nerves.

 _Because if …_ _**if** _ _… in the unlikely even that my brother is Bifur's One …_

He shook his head clear of the thought.

There was just no way on Middle Earth that Óin, son of Gróin, could be Bifur's one.

Not a damn chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nadadith - Little brother.
> 
> I know I said I'd write the betting odds and favours in this chapter, but when it comes to probability-related things, I'm thoroughly useless. ^-^;; I thought it would be best to rather have each Dwarf explain who their highest bets are (poor Dori, seems like everyone is gunning for him so far). Don't worry about the others not getting enough chapter-time - they'll definitely appear more in the next chapter. I'm trying to give everyone a moment to shine, but not to the point that the chapters ends up becoming 10 000+ words and less readable (trust me, though, there probably WILL be 10 000+ word chapters somewhere down the line, XD).
> 
> Oh yes, in case you're wondering, Gandalf started the resolutions project on 31 May, and the Dwarves commenced with their resolutions on 1 June (Day 1). I'm looking forward to writing about Day 7, because y'all know what happened on that day, right ...? ;)
> 
> Let me know if there's any specific Dwarf you want me to talk about more in the next chapter in terms of their back-story, personal history, etc. Obviously, every one of the Company will get a chance to talk about their lives before the request, but if there's a Dwarf in particular you want me to elaborate more on, let me know in the commentatos below! And of course, let me know what you thought of this chapter as well! I'll be a bit slow in updating "A Babysitter's Dozen" because of exams and my second laptop charger has been toasted (and it was brand-new, too *weeps*).
> 
> *~AI07~* :)


End file.
